Unbroken: Change of Heart
by MasamuneZERO
Summary: Booker's passage through Rapture and Columbia altered more than just Elizabeth's fate. A young Vox soldier was changed by her encounter with Booker and a Tear, and now she must deal with memories she shouldn't have, the forces of the Founders and even her fellow Vox. Suggest reading Bioshock Infinite: Unbroken first. Cover art commissioned from Radiant-Grey on Devianart.
1. Memory Disjunction

"Booker? What are you doing? Book-agh!"

The words ring through her mind and all around her, the young woman cracking open her burning eyes only to find herself in darkness. The words were her own, in her own voice, but she isn't the one to speak them.

"I need to find someone…" A man's voice echoes in the darkness. Must be that 'Booker' fella her voice had called out to. Still lying on her back, she groans in pain, her shoulder throbbing from some unseen wound. She tries to picture the face to go with the name, this 'Booker'. But the face doesn't come, and she lets out a weary sigh, bringing a hand up to her eyes to try and ease the burning. She only finds a hard metal mask covering her face and thick canvas cowl wrapped around her head, mouth and nose.

"So what's your name, anyway?" Booker again, the young woman opening her mouth to speak as she yanks on the canvas covering her mouth, her other hand trying to find whatever straps holds the mask in place. Something about the voice sounds familiar, but she still can't quite place him.

"I'm…" for some reason, she hesitates, a distant part of her thoughts wondering why, "My name is… my name…" Panic seeps into her mind as she realizes she doesn't know, the mask refusing to leave her face as she starts tugging frantically only adding to her growing fears, "Who am I?!"

"I need to find someone… someone dear…" Booker's voice again, visions of a girl flashing before her eyes, first of only her face before revealing more. She wears a blue dress that's oddly familiar to her, with dark brown hair and eyes as deep and blue as the ocean. Eyes seemingly filled with sadness. Words buzz around in her thoughts as she looks upon this girl.

"Miss… Lamb? Is that me? Is that my name?" Still struggling to rip the mask from her face, she feels a scowl coming on, "No, don't feel right…" The one Booker searches for, it must be her.

The girl disappears, replaced by a sight of a room somewhere in the factory. Near the airship docks, her mind registers, wondering how she knows that but not her name. Daisy Fitzroy, the woman she looks up to and leader of the Vox Populi, speaks with a redheaded man and woman as a man and boy kneel behind her, bound and helpless. Fink and his son, she realizes with disgust; Fink had much to pay for, though she doesn't quite know why.

"Damned visions, why am I seeing these things? Why can't I remember who I am?"

She can't comprehend why she knows where this is or who these people are, only that she does, and doesn't care either way. She just wants the mask off, now. "Hnnngg!" She screams through grit teeth as she tries to pull the metal prison from her face, but no matter how hard she pulls, the unyielding second skin refuses to give. Even worse, she finds she can't rise from the ground, only her head and arms obeying her will. A sigh slips from between her lips, redoubling her efforts to rip the mask from her face.

"… but, I will not hurt the boy. I will see Fink and Comstock burn, but I will not hold the son to account for the deeds of his father." She only half hears Daisy speaking as she struggles, panic strengthening her determination to rid herself of this stifling metal tomb.

"You mean I won't live to see the…" Daisy heaves a shuddering sigh, "No…" Daisy's voice shakes her from her panic, somehow getting her to focus, though she still misses the twins' initial retorts… something about a play.

"Someone is coming." The man speaks.

"She'll arrive a girl." The woman, no, sister continues.

"She must leave a woman." The brother finishes.

"Daisy… didn't want this… this bloodshed?" A fragment of memory returns, of overhearing Daisy speak into a voxophone about mercy, before visions of the people that she, Daisy and their Vox comrades had killed, the rage and hate she'd felt for all of them turning her stomach.

"Turn the girl into a killer, how?" Daisy shoots back, her voice harsh even as she acquiesces to the twins.

"Give the girl no choice," the brother… Robert, her mind grasps.

"And she'll be forced to make one." The sister, Rosalind. Lutece, her mind adds again, though she hasn't the slightest as to why. As she looks on, watching the twins disappear and Daisy march out of the room with a look of resignation on her face, she groans at the revelation. Reluctantly, she returns her thought to the obstinate mask and to ripping it from her face once and for all. She can't let herself think about how misguided she'd been, nausea already threatening to overtake her.

The image before her shifts for only a second, and she shouts in surprise; the girl from before, dressed in a white blouse and covered in blood. The shock on the girl's face, her realization of what she'd done… both gnaw at the prone, confused woman, she unable to reconcile this vision of the girl with the other. She very nearly retches in her mask, barely holding it in.

"Who am I?! Why can't I remember… why am I seein' these visions… this girl?!"

"Tear sickness…" Booker's voice again, and somehow she understands what those words mean. Her memories, they were nearly erased by passing through a Tear… by entering another world. Something she has no business knowing, yet she does.

"Tear… why do I know that word?" She sees a city beneath the sea, hears Booker speaking to Robert Lutece, and hears the girl singing some song she doesn't know. She sees through Booker's eyes as he holds his baby girl before leaving for this underwater city. Thoughts and events she shouldn't, rather, couldn't know, yet she does.

And then the visions melt away, transforming into a memory she's certain that, for once, is her own. She finds herself in a one-room shack, dirty and in sore need of repair, a single lamp lighting the room. She sees a woman lying on a bed, staring right at her, signs of sickness clear on her pallid face.

"Abby…" the woman motions her forward weakly, barely able to lift her hand to do so, "come… come sit with me one las' time, love."

She couldn't have been more than five. They were living in a shack in Finkton, just another poor and hungry Irish family left to fend for their own. Her Da had been a mechanic down below, but the tiniest mistake had drawn the ire of the foremen, and they'd thrown him from the machines he'd loved down to toiling as a menial laborer. And her Ma… her mother come down with something, and when she and her Da went to beg the company to send a doctor, they'd just laughed in their faces. Fink had been in the office that day, and shrugged off her family's plight with an indignant laugh. Her father hadn't the courage to face her like this, and so she sat alone with her.

And now her Ma lay in bed, a mere shadow of her former self wasting away, struggling to form one last smile. She fights to raise her hand, pale and thin from sickness.

"I… I'm sorry, your Ma canna' stay with ya anymore…" Rasping coughs wrack her body. Just speaking took a toll on her mother, and she watches as her five-year old self pulls the stool up to her bedside. She takes her mother's shaking hand with her own small ones, struggling to keep the tears from falling.

"Don't… don't cry, mah sweet girl… I'm goin' to a better… a better home. I'll always be watchin', so promise me…" She feels her mother's hand tighten ever so slightly around hers, "promise your Ma, that you'll always be a good girl. That… that you'll be strong, and kind. That you'll watch… watch over your Da…" Her mother manages a weak smile, a tear rolling down her cheek, and she feels tears of her own as her younger self starts crying in earnest.

"My dear, sweet Abigail…" And with that, she was gone, the smile slowly fading from her face.

The memory shatters before her eyes, shining specks of golden light drifting around her as she chokes back a sob. A mirror hovers in its place, and as she looks up at herself, the hated mask shatters as well, the cowl unravelling and falling away. She finally gets a good, long look at herself.

Long red hair lays beside her in a ponytail, blue eyes staring back at her, not at all dissimilar from the eyes of the girl she'd seen. She wears a stolen blue uniform, a short white cape of some kind resting beneath her, the red of the Vox Populi on arm and shin guards. Tears stream down her fair cheeks, and she covers her face while wishing it all away even as she affirms who she is, "I'm Abigail of the Vox…"

Booker's voice appears one last time in the darkness, "Goodbye, Abigail. And… thanks for all the help."

* * *

"Abigail? Wake up… c'mon already, wake up!"

Her eyes crack open as someone shakes her shoulders, staring up at the woman calling her name. Confusion in deep brown eyes, brown hair pulled back in a bun, a face she's certain she knows. The name comes to her a second later, a hint of a lopsided smile tugging at her lips.

"Vivian?"

"Oh, thank God…" Vivian Monroe stares back at her, formerly of Columbia's military before joining the Vox Populi and her good friend, worry thick in her voice.

"What happened… guh." Pushing herself upright, Abigail feels a wave of nausea, barely able to keep her stomach in check as she utters a half-hearted groan. Her eyes feel raw, and as she rubs them she finds she's been crying. "No surprise there…" she mutters quietly; given what she'd just seen, a touch of tears certainly wasn't about to make her wonder.

"We brought you here after that Founder bastard escaped. Some of the squads are still looking for him, but I'm just glad he didn't hurt you worse…"

"Booker wasn't the one that shot me…" She bites back the retort, letting it run in her mind before glancing at her shoulder, only to find the wound bandaged up nicely. But a simple flesh wound is the least of her problems; strange memories that she hadn't experienced swim in her mind. Memories that she's sure doesn't belong, but is equally sure belong to an Abigail somewhere. Memories of another life, as an older woman living in the city beneath the sea she'd seen where she'd had a family of her own, and supported them as best she could. She'd been a singer, performing on a handful of small stages in dimly lit lounges, cigar smoke thick in the air. She can almost smell the smoke as she focuses on the memories. The last stage lingers in her mind, the name on the tip of her tongue. "Satyr?"

"Abigail! What… what happened to you?"

A splitting headache begins to pound in her skull, and she feels warmth running down her lip, blood trickling from her nose. She touches two fingers to it to see if this was real, and her mind fills in the blanks as she looks upon the red staining her fingertips. "I'm… I'm fine, Viv. Just… just get me somethin' to wipe this up…"

As Vivian runs off, Abigail hangs her head, clutching her skull as unwelcome memories march through her mind. She understands, but doesn't know how she understands; before today, she knew nothing of Tears, Tear sickness, the effect of entering a world where another you died… they're mindboggling. While she's a deft hand with wrenches, spanners and machines, one of the few things her father had taught her, a learned woman she isn't. Learning like that isn't easy to come by in Finkton.

Finkton. Shantytown. Whatever you call it, the place is somewhere dreams go to die and the downtrodden to huddle together. Her Ma died there because the company decided she wasn't worth calling a doctor for. Her Da still gorges himself with cheap booze, trying to drown the loss of his love and his cowardice in the face of her death.

"Hold on just a second…" Sitting cross-legged quietly atop her cot, something clicks in her mind, Abigail lifting her head, "How am I even whole? Tear sickness… is supposed to completely jumble your memories…" She shakes her head, trying to put the question from her mind; why is she trying to figure out something she shouldn't even know? "My head's jumbled 'nough as is, best not to linger…"

"Here you go, Abby." Vivian appears at her side once more, a red cloth and cup of water in hand. Somehow, it reminds her of the mask she'd desperately wanted off, Abigail shuddering as she takes it from her friend. No sooner had she thought of the mask came to mind than she spies it; sitting near the foot of her cot with the rest of her gear, the yellow gleam of the metal sends a chill down her spine.

Quickly averting her eyes, Abigail glances around the room, trying to take her mind from her muddled memory. She sits in one of the side rooms in the factory, in Fink's 'work' area, converted into a makeshift infirmary. Cots line the floor, a wounded Vox soldier in each. Most had been knocked unconscious by the previous intruder, but a few had been shot or burned by the man she'd met.

"Booker." She groans into her hand again as the name crosses her mind. Not the Martyr Daisy and the others had looked up to, but the Booker she'd met. A few of his experiences seem to be caught up in the mix of her muddled, disjointed memories. An image of his daughter, others of the girl, the city she'd seen…

"The girl…?" Something about her nags at Abigail's thoughts, trying to come to the surface. "Booker's looking for a girl… could it be…?" She hadn't been in the area when the lady intruder had come through, so she couldn't be sure… but it makes sense somehow.

"Abigail, I've got to tell you… Preston Downs is on his way, and he wants some answers."

"Downs? Why? What happened to Daisy…?" She falls silent, remembering the vision of Daisy with the twins. Daisy and the others had made her feel welcome when she joined the Vox, she feeling like she finally belonged again. And yet, Daisy was resigned to sacrifice herself for a girl she didn't know at the behest of a curious pair of twins, for the sake of their revolution. The 'play' as the twins called it.

"Abigail… she's… Daisy's gone. She was stabbed through the heart. By Comstock's Lamb…"

"Wh-what? The Lamb?" Abigail stares back at her friend, trying to comprehend what she'd said; Comstock's daughter, the Lamb of Columbia and child of prophecy had been the one to kill Daisy. She's the one the Lutece's needed to make a woman? That she'd be the one to bring down the Prophet… her father?

"Downs has taken command, and he's intent on getting revenge for Daisy. We're to kill anyone who gets in our way, and to shoot on sight if we see that imposter Booker DeWitt or the Lamb."

"No…" Abigail turns away from Vivian as the word crosses her mind, "This Booker… can't be the same Booker, yeah?" A sigh parts her lips, seeing the memories that Booker had somehow left her, "I think… they're likely linked…"

"Little miss Abigail!"

The doors to the makeshift infirmary bursts open, Preston E. Downs stepping through with a quartet of armed guards, "We need to have a talk, little lady!"

Abigail winces at the booming voice, attempting to keep her expression neutral as Downs and his bodyguards storm up to her; she never cared for Downs, the man's bluster and bravado rubbing her the wrong way from the moment they'd met, and the confusing memories swirling through her mind doesn't help any. His tendency to call her 'little lady' or 'little miss' always had her grinding her teeth, the condescending tone he uses making her want to rip that mustache right off his smug face.

He still wears his Columbian military uniform, no different from Viv's or her stolen one, except for the fact that someone took a brush and red paint to it. Two red streaks run from his right shoulder to left hip, a display of Vox colors even less subtle than the cowl and hood she and Vivian wore in battle.

"Now," Downs drags a chair up to her cot and swings a leg over, straddling it like a horse as he looks down at her, "Ah' hear you went an' took a bullet fer that Founder you were with? Why would you go and do somethin' like that?"

He crosses his arms on the chair back, staring at her. For once, Abigail finds all eyes on her, and she can't help but squirm a little; Preston, his guards, the Vox tending the injured and even the conscious wounded watch her, suspicion of her loyalties plain in their eyes. Only Viv looks at her differently, though in her eyes Abigail sees confusion.

"I didn't mean to…" Her throat feels like sandpaper, dry and scratchy, and she takes a deep pull from her cup. The room had fallen silent, and she needs a minute before continuing, "He took me hostage, and I was tryin' to keep him from gettin' away."

They stare at each other in silence, Abigail not daring to blink as the new leader of the Vox Populi twiddles his mustache. Whatever's going on in Downs' head, Abigail's sure she wants no part of it, especially after what Vivian had told her.

"Is that so?" Downs' voice breaks the silence. She sighs carefully as a murmur fills the room, most of her audience now turning to other matters, the tension in the room noticeably easing even though Downs still stares at her.

Stroking his oversized mustache, Downs continues watching her, Abigail shifting in place as she stares back at him. "The men that got a good look at the Founder say he looks just like the False Shepherd. But I'm sure you got a better look at 'im than any of 'em, though, and we know the False Shepherd was on the First Lady when he nabbed you and ran off."

"Is he testing me?" Abigail fights the urge to snap at him as she thinks it, swallowing a groan and downing the rest of her water while idly wishing for more, her throat still dry and raw, "He looked like Booker DeWitt, but also looked some years younger. Don't know who he was, he never said his name."

They stare at each other still, the rest of the Vox going about their business around them, leaving Vivian to glance between her and Downs. "There'll be rivers of blood with this fool in charge…" Abigail grimaces as the thought crosses her mind, the grimace turning into a scowl when Downs smirks at her, "Daisy wanted a revolution an' to bring down the oppressors, but this… I don't think she wanted ta' turn us into bloodthirsty murderers…"

"Alright!" Downs jumps to his feet, she passing from his attention in a heartbeat, "Everyone that can walk n' carry a gun, we're moving out! We're headed for Emporia, men, an' we're gonna avenge ourselves on Comstock, the Founders, and the False Shepherd and the Lamb!"

A cheer thunders in the cramped infirmary, even from Vivian, though Abigail fails to join in, something her friend notices. As the other Vox follow Downs out of the room, Vivian turns to her, "Abby, what's wrong? You were chomping at the bit to go kill some Founders earlier."

All she can do is shrug and shake her head; Vivian truly believed in the Vox Populi, and now that Daisy had set them on this course and with Preston Downs urging them on, there's little she can do to explain to her friend why she wasn't so keen on this. If she hadn't seen Daisy and the Lutece twins, hadn't met Booker, she'd probably be just as eager to gun down any Founder that crosses her path.

"Nothin'. Let's go."

"Little lady! One of the barge's pilot machine is busted. You know how to fly 'em proper, yeah?" Downs shouts from down the hall, Abigail wincing once more, "Get it in gear, your squad's goin' to drop munitions at Port Prosperity before headin' to Emporia! You'll be marchin' on Market Street! Vivian, you're headed to Harmony Lane!"

Abigail and Vivian share a sigh, the latter grinning at her, "Well, you heard the man." Abigail gives her friend a good long look as she dons her cowl and mask, only averting her eyes when Vivian fits her mask in place. "Stay safe, Abigail, and I'll see you on the other side."

"You too, love…" She waits until Vivian is well gone before climbing to her feet. The muffled sound of her friend's voice reminds her of the visions, of her own mask that would not come loose. She shudders again, pondering what the vision of the mask shattering to reveal her face could mean.

"Booker. The girl. Daisy and the Luteces." She mutters to herself as she holsters her Paddywhacker Hand Cannon, "Why do I have these memories of his? I…" The memories of her other self don't bother her nearly as much, those she understands well enough and even sort of enjoys now that she's figured them out. But Booker's… she only senses sorrow in them.

Abigail falls silent as she reaches for her cowl and mask, the sight of its golden surface and glowing red, hateful eyes triggering a wave of revulsion. She thinks back to the memory of her mother, of her life in the other world, and of the people she'd killed since the revolution started. Tears run down her cheeks, and she clamps a gloved hand over her mouth to suppress a sob.

"Ma would be so ashamed." She draws a knife from her boot, the same knife Booker had missed and she'd used to cut her bonds, slicing a long red strip from the cowl, "I can't disappoint her again…"

Wrapping the red strip around her right arm, somehow feeling it proper, Abigail hurries to join her squad as she swears a quiet oath, "I won't lose my way again, Ma. Once I get my head straight, figure why these things are in my memory, I'm gonna have a chat with that fool Downs."

* * *

**Author's Note: Welp, here's the beginning of Abigail's story, something I've been hinting at in The Absent Twin and in other pieces. Smack dab in the middle of the Vox Populi uprising, with Booker and Elizabeth running around somewhere, where do you think this is going? As usual, I welcome any comments in messages or reviews, and thanks for reading. I'm also looking for a better cover image, but there's not much in the way of fanart for Vox soldiers.**


	2. Disillusion

**Author's Note: Sorry for the delay, this week's been a hectic one, and I couldn't quite finish touching up and proofing this chapter by Tuesday night. Anyway, thanks for waiting.**

* * *

"Hey! Keep 'er level, lass!"

Abigail only grunts in reply, swinging the barge around as collapsing rubble nearly crashes into them. The controls of the cargo barge are poorly designed at best, the robot operators' ability to fly the thing due as much to being a part of the bloody ship as manipulating the dials and steering wheel. Too bad this one's had been shot to hell.

"Alright! We're almost there!" Shouting through the busted window, Abigail turns the barge towards Emporia, the upper-class neighborhood coming into view among the clouds. Not that she'd ever been here before; a daughter of poor factory workers didn't rub elbows with the Founders living here. "And next time, you can fly the damn barge yourself if ya got a problem!" She glares at the gunman who'd complained, muttering under her breath, "Jackass."

Her squad is made up of five aside from herself, three men and two women. The former wear red patched together horned masks made of canvas and looking like some sort of distorted devil, while the latter wears mostly the same uniform as she; red canvas cowl, spiked crown, gold-colored face mask with glowing red eyes, short white cape and stolen Founder military uniforms. Abigail can't help the shudder as one of the woman turns towards her, the baleful light of the mask setting her on edge. They carry Repeaters and Broadsider Pistols, but it's their demeanor that worries her. The other Vox all seem to be in good cheer, despite the massacre at Fink's earlier. "They aren't bothered by what they did at all…" Abigail grimaces in disgust, both at her 'comrades' and the lives she herself had taken.

"Oh my God…" One of the crowned women gasps, pointing ahead of the barge, "It's the airship… the First Lady…"

Abigail snaps back to reality, jerking upright and nearly tipping the barge over, barely registering the curses and grumbles coming from the fore. But all she can see is smoke and fire, and she squints while turning the barge to get a better look. And a better view she gets; the smoke clears to reveal the burned out husk of the First Lady, utterly mangled, though the cabin looks remarkably intact.

"Booker and the Lamb were on that ship…" Abigail turns back to what Downs had said; that the False Shepherd had stolen the airship earlier. If she wasn't with a squad, she'd consider flying down there to help. But this wasn't 'her' Booker, something in her muddled memories whispering this in her ear, and Abigail groans as fragments of memory come to the forefront of her thoughts. Taking one last look at the crashed First Lady, Abigail turns the barge away while muttering to herself, "C'mon lass, don't go actin' like a damned fool…"

Guiding the barge towards Port Prosperity Station and the entrance to Emporia proper, Abigail looks away only for something blue catching her eye; a Founder's police barge flies towards a crowd of panicking Columbian citizens waiting at a dock not far from the crashed airship. Abigail turns her own barge away as she realizes its purpose; to evacuate civilians to safety.

"Hey!" The gunman who'd complained earlier runs to lean over the railing, yanking the hood off his bald head, "Look! Whole mess a' Founders! Swing us around, Abby, let's have us some fun!"

"Dammit all…" A groan escapes her as she slams a fist onto the console. The barge had just about come up beside the street, the station that leads to Grand Central Station looming overhead, but she can see it in her squad mates' eyes; bloodlust and malice alongside the good cheer they were showing earlier, the cruelty disturbing Abigail, "We… we don't have time to waste! Gotta get these munitions-"

"Then just fly over while we start shooting!" The woman who'd first spied the First Lady, the rest of the squad nodding in agreement. Abigail grits her teeth while silently cursing her murderous 'comrades'.

"You want ta' explain to Downs why we were late to our post?" She practically spits the words, the disgust she'd felt before manifesting as a surge of anger, "We follow orders, elsewise we're just a pack of thugs!" Not like we aren't already, Abigail finishes silently with a somber sigh.

Her outburst somehow silences the squad's murmurings, tension thick as Abigail wonders what'll happen next; though she's the pilot, they could make do without her, and she's certain they wouldn't think twice about turning on her if they suspect her as anything other than loyal. The other Vox glance at one another and at her, but none challenges Abigail as she brings the barge level with the station. But the moment the squad jumps off and begins tossing boxes of weapons and ammunition, Abigail damn near collapses, sagging under the weight of her ever-worsening situation and what she'd managed. Between the muddled memories acting up and the tension just now, she can't help but feel a mite worn down. "At least the people down there'll be safe for-"

A bloodcurdling scream from within the station strikes Abigail like nails on a chalkboard, the young redhead bolting out of the barge's cabin only to see a second squad stepping out of the building. Another scream jolts her, and Abigail falls to a knee, clamping her hands over her ears. She can make out begging coming from the door left open by the other squad, begging silenced by the blast of a Heater being fired.

"No…" Hopping off the barge, Abigail sprints past her squad and their complaints that she should be helping, past the second squad and their questioning gazes, only stopping once she steps through the doors of the station. What she sees within fills her with horror, clamping both hands over her mouth and unable to look away; bodies lie before a wooden sign, in front of a fallen statue of Comstock, and two Vox soldiers nail bloody scalps to the board while another scrawls on it with a piece of charcoal.

"Marlowe, Saltonstall, Fink…" Reading the names scrawled above the top three scalps, Abigail shakes her head, and finally covers her eyes as tears begin to trickle down her cheeks; all three had been ardent supporters and members of the Founders, and while she can't and won't grieve for them, especially Fink, she does weep for what this act proves of the Vox Populi.

"Monsters…" She whispers into her hands, slowly drawing them away from her face, "We're becomin' bloodthirsty monster, no better than the Founders…"

"Yo, Abigail? You cryin' for these pigs?"

Turning slowly, Abigail finds both squads staring at her while the Vox inside continue with their gruesome trophy collection. The voice belongs to a large black man with another Heater resting in his arms, and Abigail finds herself the center of unwanted attention for the second time today. It doesn't take a moment for her to realize her situation, that her loyalty has yet again been cast in doubt.

"N-not for." Wiping away the tears, Abigail glances back at the board of scalps, reading the second set of names before forcing a grin, "Fink's dead. Wanted ta' kill him myself, but it don't matter now. My Ma's been avenged."

The words ring hollow to her, and just speaking them leaves a foul taste in her mouth, but Abigail's excuse seems to satisfy the Vox and the big man in particular. He claps her on the back before stepping away, Abigail stumbling under the blow before finding her feet. Breathing a sigh of relief, Abigail turns to leave, keeping her eyes focused firmly on her feet to avoid the death around her and the grisly display.

But as she steps towards the doors, something glints at her from behind stacked crates, catching Abigail's eye. A long, smooth bottle with pale blue liquid swirling inside and a bird's head for a cap lies wedged behind crates from Fink's Manufacturing. Abigail's jaw drops as she yanks the Vigor free, staring at it before glancing around suspiciously. "Nobody's noticed… good. But… is this really just a coincidence? Seems like something those twins are wont to do…" Abigail blinks, wondering at the strangeness of the thought before realizing why; fragments of a Booker memory.

"Here goes nothing…" Unscrewing the crow-head cap, Abigail squeezes her eyes shut once the Vigor touches her lips. She's all too aware of the disturbing hallucinations Vigors can cause, several of the Vox who'd acquired these powers relating the experience to any who'd listen.

Her vision darkens immediately as the Vigor kicks in, Abigail recalling the darkness of her dream with a shudder. She practically yelps as she sees and feels a large black crow land on her left arm, the bird staring back at her with beady eyes over a bloody beak, visible to her and her alone. She can feel it's talons digging into her flesh despite the glove it rests on.

As suddenly as it started, the hallucination of the dark and the crow vanishes, leaving her panting in its wake. Tugging the glove and armguard from her left hand, Abigail can feel the Vigor coursing through her veins, and as she looks on, dark feathers grow from her skin and black claws appear in place of her nails. "Murder of Crows…" Abigail takes a deep breath to steady herself, glancing back at the bloody scalps, the irony of using one of Marlowe's Vigors not lost upon her. "I'm not even one of those crazy Zealots…"

"Hey, 'boss' lady!" Turning to the voice, Abigail groans as the annoyance she'd decided to call 'Baldy' glowering at her, "You gonna help us move these crates, lass? Or should I call you 'little lady'?" A wide smile reveals misshapen teeth, guffaws coming from her squad mates. "Maybe you and me can-gah!"

Baldy's face deforms as Abigail's gloved fist crashes into his jaw, cutting off whatever lewd insult he'd been about to make. All the disgust, shame and anger she'd felt after experiencing the Tear rips from her throat as a roar, the rest of her squad taking steps back in surprise. "My name's not 'little lady'!" She calls upon the Vigor, her now-clawed hand catching the stumbling Baldy by the throat, a grim smile touching her lips as the others gasp and shout in surprise. The jet-black claws dig into his flesh as she growls, "Call me that again, and I'll do more than deck ya!"

Baldy nods hastily, and Abigail throws him aside. She barely notices the rivulets of blood trailing down his neck, or his gasps for air as she storms away. Abigail has had quite enough of him, all the death around her, and this madness that's come over the Vox.

The crate Baldy was carrying had broken open when she'd belted him, Abigail spying Vox Repeaters packed in straw. "I'm taking this." Striding out of Port Prosperity Station, Abigail climbs aboard the cargo barge once more, a Repeater slung over her shoulder.

Leaning against the back wall of the cabin, Abigail stares at the wreckage of the First Lady while waiting for the squad to finish. Fortunately, it doesn't take long, Baldy and the others clamoring aboard not ten minutes later. No complaints or protests come from any of them, and Abigail heaves a tired sigh; whatever awaits her in Emporia, she's sure it won't be any better than here. Pushing herself from the cabin wall, she sluggishly turns the barge away from Port Prosperity.

"Don't suppose I have a choice anymore…"

Abigail frowns as Market Street comes into view, another squad of Vox waving the barge towards them. She'd taken her time, flying the barge as slowly as she could manage, and now her 'squad mates' are getting restless. Pulling up level to the street, Abigail glumly wonders if more people are going to die.

A high-pitched shriek cuts through the air, and someone's voice she can barely make out screams, "It's the Songbird!"

Staggering out of the cabin, Abigail gasps as Songbird slams into the side of Grand Central Station, the monstrous bird-creature peering into one of the windows. Pain lances through her skull, Abigail wincing as something stirs in her memory. "He's… he's looking for her… Booker's… the girl?"

"He? How do you know that 'thing' is a he?" One of the Vox who'd been waiting on them pipes up, stepping onto the barge as Songbird flies away. He looks not too different from the man who'd questioned her at Port Prosperity's Station. When she shrugs, he steps past her into the cabin, "We'll be bringin' the barge back 'round in a couple hours, so best be back here before then or get left behind."

Despite the feeling of dread the memory fragments cause her, Abigail follows the squad as they hop off the barge. Trying to take her mind off her problems, Abigail idly notes the name of the shop they stand next to: Wilson Bros. &amp; Company Bottling. As the rest of the squad start down the street, Abigail hesitates as she looks through the windows; something inside catches her eye, something flickering like a Tear.

"That's… an Infusion?" A flask flickers within the locked shop, its contents shifting between red, blue and yellow. Shaking her head, Abigail steps away from the shop, groaning quietly as something else she has no business knowing comes to mind.

Stuck between worries about her memory and fears of what lies ahead, Abigail trudges down the street after her squad. She truly hopes nothing happens before it's time to leave. Approaching the archway reading 'Market District', Abigail groans as she finds yet another body lying in the street, giving it as wide a berth as she can even as she spots a Vigor resting by his hand. A banner declaring 'The Vox Populi Reclaim This Place' hangs among plain red ones from the Bank of the Prophet. "Reclaim my foot… tear down's more like it."

Climbing two flights of steps, Abigail finds herself staring at a tall building, the windows reading 'Lutece Laboratory' causing an image of the twins with Daisy to flash before her eyes. The surrounding buildings look trashed, several fruit and vegetable stalls lying overturned or abandoned with broken glass everywhere. Baldy and another of her 'squad mates' sit on the edge of a dried up fountain before the Lutece Labs, munching on a pair of pilfered apples, and Abigail can't help but wonder what this neighborhood would've been like before all the violence.

"Oi! Been waitin' for ya! What took so long?" Heavy clanking footfalls come from up ahead, Abigail nearly panicking as she lays eyes on a Motorized Patriot coming her way. But then she notices it wearing a horned Lincoln mask and sports crimson Vox banners, while the solider who'd called out to them and one other follow closely behind.

"Our pilot wasn't bein' cooperative." Baldy steps towards the pair, munching on an apple, "We've been told ta' hold this place for now, you-"

"'Ey! Get out here, ya Founder pigs!"

A woman's voice screeches from a nearby produce store, standing alone near the Lutece Labs with roads running past on either side. A vandalized image of the Prophet hanging high overhead, another trio of Vox banners hangs alongside and drapes over the picture. One of the crowned Vox leads three men and a woman out of the store at gunpoint, civilians with their hands held above their heads and fear in their eyes. Abigail feels a cold knot forming in the pit of her stomach as the other Vox chuckle maliciously.

"Please… let us go!" One of the men begs as the woman who'd found them begins patting him down, one of the newcomers joining in. Abigail cringes as the newcomers starts with the captured woman, the chuckles coming from him telling her far more than she'd like about his intentions. Coins, wallets, jewelry, even cufflinks are stripped from the captives, being 'redistributed' among the Vox.

"Shut up, you!" The lady Vox pistol whips the back of the begging man's skull, a few of the other soldiers laughing as the abused man falls to a knee. The offender turns to look Abigail's way, the mask triggering a wave of loathing in the young redhead, "Abigail, here! A little somethin' for ya'!" A Silver Eagle flips through the air towards Abigail's face, her eyes widening and she just barely catching the coin, a sense of déjà vu settling in her mind. Something stirs yet again in her memories, but nothing clear comes to mind.

The Vox squad takes their time frisking their captives, and while Abigail can't be certain how long they take, she's certain at least several minutes have passed. Gunshots rang from farther down Market Street a few minutes in, and it's been at least several more since.

"Alright! Looks like that's everything." The newcomer who'd first been 'patting down' the terrified woman shouts as he hesitantly steps away. He brandishes a Burst Gun, looking the captives up and down once more.

"So… can we go?" The man who'd spoken before, still clutching his skull, "We-we've nothing else to give you! Please… just let us-grk!" A hard right silences his pleas.

"Yeah? And why should we do that?" One of her masked 'squad mates' chuckles, pushing the man towards the stairs, "Maybe we'll take your lady friend here with us, but the rest of you… all you pigs are gonna get what's comin'to ya!"

Abigail backs away as the captives are marched down the stairs by three masked Vox, ducking behind a produce stand to get away from what she's sure to come. A shuddering sigh escapes Abigail as she covers her eyes, "This isn't right… none of it. Why…?" Slipping the Repeater from her shoulder, Abigail stares at the weapon, wondering for a moment if she could save them. Sitting between the houses and the wood of the produce stand, Abigail only sees her dying to the Patriot as she plays out in her mind every scenario she can think of.

_Thump_. Something sounds off to her right. Whirling towards the noise while pushing up only to drop into a crouch, Abigail holds her weapon at the ready as she looks for the source. At first, all she makes out are locked doors and darkened windows, but something akin to a whimper sounds as the begging of the captives' drifts to her ears. A whimper coming from the corner house, Abigail noticing the gate barring the door isn't properly locked.

Slipping inside, Abigail pulls the gate shut properly and eases the door shut before creeping deeper into the home, loosely holding the Repeater at her side. A small end table or nightstand sits near the door, the drawers hanging open and looking as if someone had been tearing through them in a hurry. A search that'd been left unfinished, by the looks of it.

Another whimper draws her down the hallway, Abigail stepping deeper into the darkened house even as she wonders why she's so determined. The whimpering grows louder, Abigail able to discern quiet breathing as she approaches the door at the end of the hallway, hanging slightly ajar. Tightening her grip on the Repeater, Abigail hesitantly touches the wooden door with her left. The slightest shift of the door evokes another bout of whimpers and what she can only guess at as shushing sounds.

Pushing the door open, Abigail steps inside carefully, her breath catching in her throat as she lays eyes on what she seeks; a woman clutches a pair of children to her chest, a boy and a girl. The woman begins to tremble, Abigail seeing fear on her face, "Oh my God! Please… please don't hurt us!"

"This… this is what… who I've hated all these years?" Abigail slumps against the doorframe, grimacing even as revulsion tightens the knot in her stomach, "Who WE'VE hated all this time? They're just… they don't deserve this…" The kids can't be any older than five or six, and their mother looks a young woman not much older than she is.

"J-just take whatever you want, but please, just don't hurt the children!"

"I'm not gonna hurt ya!" She blurts the word out, clamping a hand over her mouth the second they pass her lips. Once the initial shock wears off, Abigail whispers as reassuringly as she can manage, "I swear I'm not going to hurt you or your babes. But you hafta keep quiet, so shhh…"

The woman stares back at her as disbelief mingles with fear in her eyes, and the children still shake and whimper in their mother's arms, neither taking their eyes from her. A sigh escapes Abigail as the stares of the family begins to unnerve her, and she glances away for just a moment, only then noticing she's still holding her Repeater.

"Ah! S-sorry, just… didn't even notice, lass…" Slinging the weapon over her shoulder, Abigail manages a self-conscious smile, the woman seeming to calm ever so slightly. But the kids still stare at her with fear, and Abigail drops to a knee as an idea comes to mind, "I swear to the Lamb that I won't hurt either of you or your Ma."

"R-really?" The girl manages to stop her trembling long enough to ask, even though her voice still quivers, "You really mean it? But… you're…"

"Vox? I know, love." Still kneeling, Abigail focuses on the memories left by Booker, on the fragments about the Lamb, "I met her, not more than a couple hours ago." A lie, but the memories feel real enough, "She's a kind lass, sweet even."

The children gape at her, and Abigail laughs softly; they'd gone from terrified by her presence to staring at her in astonishment. Silently thanking Booker again, Abigail realizes she needs them to focus, "Where's the key for the front door? It needs ta' be locked; too many dangerous fellas outside."

"I-It's in the end table, by the door… I couldn't find it…" The woman speaks quietly, still watching Abigail suspiciously. The young redhead picks herself up, attempting another warm smile before stepping out.

Hurrying down the hallway, Abigail tears through the end table as quickly and quietly as she can. But gunfire explodes outside just as she pulls at the bottom drawer, Abigail reaching for her Hand Cannon on instinct and scrambles for cover. Her fist clenches in anger as she realizes what she'd just heard, "Those… those bastards!" Abigail growls through grit teeth, "Ya didn't have ta' kill them, you-"

Gunshots sound one, twice, three times, cutting her off. Not the sound of Repeaters or Broadsiders, and Abigail makes out the distinctive report of a Hand Cannon. Screaming follows, and she can plainly make out the voices of her 'squad mates' before the roar of gunfire drowns them out. But when the Patriot speaks, the voice of the mechanized beast chills her to the core, "Remember those that died for our cause. Remember the Martyr Booker DeWitt!"

"It can't be…" Creeping to the door, the sound of crackling electricity greets her as she peeks out the window beside it. "Oh my God…" Booker DeWitt pours round after round into the Patriot's gears, electricity coursing along its mechanical body as it quickly falls apart. A sound like a bell crashing rings throughout the street as the Patriot collapses. But Booker isn't what's caught Abigail's attention; the girl following him, her dark brown hair cut short and wearing a blue dress all of Columbia is familiar with. The Seed of the Prophet, the Lamb of Columbia. Her muddled memory strains to remember something, a name that Booker had shouted amidst a hail of gunfire coming back to her. She presses her gloveless hand against the window, against

"… Elizabeth?"

"Do it. Now!" Booker points at a roof down the street as he shouts to Elizabeth.

"On it!"

"Holy…!" Falling back, and landing on her backside for her troubles, Abigail can barely believe her eyes; a freight hook appeared from nowhere, Booker jumping up to it with his Sky-Hook.

"Surprised? Can't say I blame you."

This time she draws, her Hand Cannon at the ready as she whirls around and scrambles into a crouch. But the speaker just stares back at her from down the hall, hands clasped in front of her. Red hair, blue eyes, tan jacket with brown skirt, unflinchingly disinterested expression. Abigail tightens her grip on the Hand Cannon, "Rosalind Lutece."

"Indeed. We have much to discuss, Miss Abigail."

* * *

**Closing words: And the pieces start falling into place. Thanks for reading, and we'll see just what happens between Abigail and Rosalind either next week or the week after. As usual, I welcome any comments or questions, so please feel free.**


	3. My Way

"Ya got a lotta nerve, showin' up like this, Lutece."

Staring down the barrel of her Hand Cannon, Abigail glares at the newcomer. The sounds of battle had ended as quickly as they'd begun, but the fate of her 'squad mates' doesn't concern her much, only the woman standing before her and the pair outside on her mind.

"Because of you… because of _you_ and your brother, my friends and comrades… they've all become murderin' thugs! You set us on this path! Even if Elizabeth out there brings down Comstock, it won't matter! What's the point if all that's left is blood and hate!?" Abigail hisses at Lutece through grit teeth, her anger warring with her need to remain hidden.

"My brother and I never asked for your people to become 'murdering thugs', as you put it. And in the end, it was Daisy's choice all along." Rosalind Lutece states this with the same calm, even tone she'd spoken to Daisy with, and Abigail grimaces as she remembers that conversation. "I'm… sorry, but there was little we could do."

"Don't give me that!" Abigail wants to scream, but settles for a snarl as she tightens her grip on the Hand Cannon and the trigger. "Everything's gone now… the Vox Populi was my home, my friends… the closest thing I've had to a family since my Ma died! Now it's all gone, drowned in violence an' hate…" Tears threaten to well up, but she shakes her head and affixes her gaze on Rosalind Lutece.

"All we have left is anger and blood… how can we ever…" Abigail's knees seem to give out as all the fear and disgust comes back to her, the young redhead sinking to the floor, struggling to find the words, "W-we gave up our humanity… and for what!?" Looking down as tears well up, Abigail finds her Hand Cannon resting on her lap, no longer pointed at Rosalind. The flash of anger she'd felt for the new arrival had vanished as the full weight of what had become of the Vox Populi hits her all at once, and all Abigail can feel is despair.

"Not all of you." Looking up as tears run down her face, Abigail's eyes widen in surprise as Rosalind Lutece offers her a handkerchief, "You, miss Abigail, seem to have held onto your humanity, though it seems to have brought you nothing but grief. You… did you experience something after the Tear?"

Abigail can only nod, taking the offered handkerchief and blowing her nose, "I… saw some of Booker's memories. I don't know how, but I knew about Tears, Tear sickness, my other selves, other worlds… Rapture, and somehow… I saw her." Glancing out the window, she spies Booker and Elizabeth stepping into the Lutece Lab, and she can't help but wonder what they're looking for.

"If you truly want to know who she is," Abigail whips around as Rosalind speaks, "You may benefit from eavesdropping. I'll be here when you return, just be certain not to be seen."

"Why don't you just-"

"Tell you? Some things need to be witnessed in person, Miss Abigail. I doubt you'd believe me otherwise." With that, Rosalind turns away, stepping further into the darkened house only to take a seat in the living room. Despite the despair she's experiencing over the path the Vox had taken, Abigail finds a smile coming to her lips, and she pushes herself to her feet after a moment of trepidation.

"Don't suppose I'll be getting anything else outta ya'… why does this feel familiar?" Wiping away tears as she steps outside, Abigail heaves a quiet sigh, turning her thoughts to her muddled memories and to Booker and Elizabeth. The mysteries wouldn't solve themselves, and she's better off considering them than despairing over the Vox's bloody course.

"… come and get your little bastard. I want her out of my house!" Abigail panics, a shrieking, hysterical voice jarring her nerves as she steps through the Lutece Lab's front doors. She scrambles for cover behind the counter reading 'Lutece', hopefully hiding from whoever's raving beyond the front room.

"Sterile?" Abigail pokes her head over the counter as Booker's voice comes from beyond the double doors, listening as intently as she can.

"They weren't my parents…" Elizabeth's voice answers, barely a whisper. Abigail quickly covers her mouth, gasping into her hands as realization kicks in after a moment; the Lamb isn't Comstock's daughter?

"What? Then what are you to them?" Booker's voice again, and Abigail finds herself wondering the same. Elizabeth's answer, however, makes Abigail wish she'd never heard it.

"A child they decided to imprison."

"Son of a bitch…" Abigail curses silently, struggling to comprehend the magnitude of what she'd heard; Elizabeth's no 'miracle child' and certainly isn't the Prophet's, just another of Comstock's victims. She has powers, yeah, but the thought of being taken from her family and locked up in a tower strikes an all-too-personal nerve in Abigail.

Footsteps sound from deep in the lab and getting closer. "Oh damn…" Abigail pushes off the counter and bolts outside, sprinting as quickly as she can back to the house with the family, Rosalind's warning about not being seen seeming to be of immense importance all of a sudden. It's not a long run, but the urgency of her sprint leaves her lungs burning.

"Welcome back." Rosalind quips as Abigail bursts into the house, the young Vox shooting a glare back at the peculiar scientist before locking the door behind her. Once the gate is in place and the door's locked tight, Abigail doubles over gasping as the moment passes, her lungs crying out for air, and she's all too happy to oblige.

"She… she's not… Elizabeth's not…" Trying to speak as she fills her lungs, Abigail grits her teeth, taking a deep breath before trying again, "Elizabeth's not Comstock's daughter?"

"She is not." Rosalind nods, her expression just as inscrutable as ever.

"Then… who is she?" Abigail lunges, grabbing Rosalind by her coat. She doesn't know why, but she HAS to know, the memories left by Booker stirring like mad.

"If I tell you, Abigail, you must not interfere with them. Are we agreed?" Rosalind stares back at her, unfazed by the young woman gripping her. Abigail recalls the twins disappearing after speaking with Daisy, and she breathes a sigh as she realizes Rosalind may only be humoring her. She nods quickly, wondering if she could even harm the woman before her.

"Elizabeth's birth name is Anna DeWitt." Abigail's heart feels as if it'd stopped, her jaw hanging agape and eyes wide. She barely registers that Rosalind is waiting on her, that her grip on the redheaded scientist is now nonexistent. All that she can think on is what'd just been said; Elizabeth is Booker's daughter, the baby girl he'd told her about when they'd first met.

"But… how? Booker said his daughter's at home, all but a babe… my Booker, not that one… wait… how are there…?"

"I can't explain everything. Not enough time, I must be getting back before long. But know this; they will put an end to all Comstocks across all worlds, or nearly, but the act will separate them. Booker will wake up in 1893 with no memory of Columbia or Elizabeth. Not until a year later, when he'll come in search of Elizabeth once more, though just like now he won't remember who she is."

Abigail feels as if a puppet whose strings have been cut; she stumbles away from Rosalind, falling back against the door and sliding down to the floor. Sitting there, Abigail can't help the feeling of helplessness as she imagines what Elizabeth and Booker must've experienced. She glances out the window again, watching listlessly as the unknowing father and daughter leave the Lutece Lab behind them. Looking up at Rosalind, Abigail manages to stammer out a few words, "How… do I have his memories?"

"A theory: the Tear you entered was one Elizabeth left behind, and it was born of either her death, or-"

"She died!?" Abigail's on her feet in an instant, strength returning as panic and disbelief take hold. "W-wait, how… she's out there! How can… how can she…"

"Yes… Miss Abigail, this Booker and Elizabeth are the past selves of the Booker you met and the Elizabeth he's seeking. The girl was killed in Rapture, something Booker is attempting to unmake." Rosalind's implacable expression falters, and Abigail can't tell if the woman's annoyed at being interrupted, or if she's seeing a touch of melancholy. "Regardless, Booker and Elizabeth share a bond, and I believe these Tears were formed by either her passage through Rapture or her death, and the connection she shares with Booker. His experiences with Tears before your encounter have slowly been returning his memory, and this Tear returned the last of them after he passed through it."

"I… are you sayin'… the Tear was for him?"

"Possibly. The Tear may have been meant for him, and was collapsing after he went through. Your contact with him in the Tear may have caused this… transference of memories. Hmm… would you like to see him again?"

Lutece's question catches Abigail by surprise, the young woman blinking as she tries to comprehend, "Y-you can do that? I… I suppose, but how…" With that, Rosalind spreads her arms wide, and the darkened house is suddenly awash with gray light; the distinctive figure of a Tear shimmers beyond Rosalind.

"Oh… holy hell!" Abigail steps around Lutece, the sight bringing tears to her eyes even as she smiles; before her, Booker and Elizabeth support each other as they hobble down a dark and gloomy hallway, Robert Lutece guiding them and a strange little girl holding Elizabeth's hand. "Good for you…" Staring at the family, Abigail chuckles as she sees a strip of blue wrapped around Booker's right arm, just like the red around hers.

"Should I close the-" Abigail shakes her head, cutting Rosalind off, "Then why are you crying?"

"I… I don't… I'm happy for 'em, I suppose…" The smile fades as she wipes the tears on her sleeve, sighing quietly as confusion takes hold; why does she care so? She'd only met Booker once, only for a short time at that, and she's only ever seen Elizabeth from afar or in Booker's memories. Looking back to Rosalind, Abigail can't help but feel lost, "I dunno…"

"Hmm… curious." Rosalind waves her hand, and the Tear closes, the house once again shrouded in darkness, "What will you do now? You have a woman and her children in the back room; may I ask your intentions?"

"I'm goin' to get 'em to safety." Abigail turns to look Rosalind in the eye, a grim smile spreading across her features, "I won't leave 'em to be found by the Vox, not after all that's happened. My Ma wouldn't want me ta' abandon 'em, an' I'm not goin' to disappoint her, not again."

* * *

"Listen, I'm getting' ya someplace safe, but for now we've gotta stay here, and quiet." Abigail kneels before the woman and her children, trying to sound as confident and reassuring as possible, "A barge'll be back to pick me up, I'll get ya on it and take ya far away from here."

Rosalind had disappeared shortly after their chat, something like half an hour ago, leaving Abigail alone with the scared, nervous family. The woman still looks at her suspiciously, and the boy is still fearful, but at least the children don't tremble or whimper at her approach. The girl gives Abigail some hope; the child simply watches her without a sound, her expression and gray eyes neutral.

"A-and if the barge doesn't come? Or there are more Vox? T-then what?"

"Then I'll protect ya." Abigail's heart sinks at the thought, even as she tries to reassure the mother, "No matter what. We've got an hour or so till then, so just sit tight, yeah?"

The woman nods, and Abigail steps away with a heavy heart; without the imminent danger of someone being killed, the thought of fighting her fellow Vox turns her stomach. What if they're just following orders, and aren't bloodthirsty killers? The young redhead grimaces as she leans her Repeater against a dresser. Lowering herself down to sit beside her weapon, Abigail rests with the heavy wooden dresser against her back. For the third time since she'd returned from the Lutece Lab, she glances around the room, trying to take her mind off the future.

The dresser she's resting against sits near the door to the bedroom she and the family are hiding in, the door itself in the right corner. This must've been the kids' room, for two small beds lie in the far corners, nightstands beside them with colorful toys and other personal effects littering their surfaces and the floors around them.

"Shh… It's alright…" Abigail's gaze is drawn to the family as the mother coos to her children, stroking the boy's hair while rocking back and forth. They're huddled together atop the bed in the opposite corner from the door, and Abigail still can't understand how she could've hated these people so much.

A shuttered window on the far wall, across from where Abigail sits, and one other on the left allow only the weakest of light to filter into the room. The light is barely enough to make out the family she's determined to protect, but Abigail doesn't particularly care either way right now; she's got enough on her mind.

"Hmph… bigger than my family's shack in Finkton…" Abigail groans as the thought crosses her mind, thoughts of her own family replacing uncertainty with an all-too familiar hurt. "I wish I could've had a family like the other me did… even a family like Booker's…" Abigail grimaces again, shaking the thoughts of those two from her mind.

Thinking of family, Abigail turns her thoughts to the songs her other self sang in Rapture, and the song Elizabeth had performed there. But she has neither the practice to sing her other self's songs, nor the clarity of memory to even attempt Elizabeth's; the memory of Booker's seems one of a first time hearing, not enough to make out even half the lyrics. But there is one song she knows, though she hasn't sung it in years.

Pulling her knees to her chest and crossing her arms over them, Abigail lowers her head to rest her eyes against her forearms. The words come easily, and she takes a deep breath while untying her ponytail. Her voice comes out slow and quiet as her hair comes loose, further muffled by singing into her arms.

_I'll tell me Ma when I go home, the boys won't leave the girls alone._

_ They pull my hair and stole my comb, but that's alright till I go home._

Her voice isn't nearly as upbeat or quick as the song calls for, but then again, she isn't in an upbeat mood. Fresh tears spring forth, Abigail remembering her Ma teaching her the song.

_She is handsome, she is pretty, she is the belle of Dublin city._

_ She is courtin' one, two, three, please, won't you tell me-_

"Are you crying?"

Abigail jerks her head up at the sound of the voice, only to see the little girl standing before her. The girl wears a knee length gray dress with bands of white about her wrists and neck, her blonde hair tied up in a bun. Abigail smiles despite the tears, the little girl's face showing only sympathy, "Yes, I am, lass."

"But… you're Vox… and a grown-up."

"You think Vox don't cry? We're people, too. And grown-ups can cry if they're really sad…"

The child seems to think for a moment, and Abigail glances past to the girl's family; the mother holds her breath, fear evident in her eyes, while the boy clutches the arm holding him to his mother's chest. Neither looks particularly at ease with what's happening, and Abigail turns her gaze back to the brave little girl before her.

"My name's Mary, what's yours?" The girl steps closer, putting a little hand on Abigail's arm.

"Abigail." She smiles, and the little girl follows suit. "You're not scared of me?"

"Not really. I play with some boys and girls who sound like you… but don't tell my Papa." Mary looks at her intently, as if something'll happen just from staring. "Where're you from?"

"My Ma and Da," Abigail runs a hand through her hair and draping her now-loose hair over her shoulder, "came here from New York. I don't remember it myself; too young. My-" she falls silent for just a moment, wondering if she's remembering her family's past, or Booker's, "my Granma still lives there, but I don't remember her much. I've only ever seen a photo of her when I was but a babe, like you. My Ma taught me this song, but she… she died when I was your age."

Mary blinks at her, and Abigail realizes the girl may not understand death yet. Probably for the best, but Abigail still grimaces as she wonders how long that'll last. "M-my Ma had to go far away, and I haven't seen her since."

The little girl's face falls, Mary looking back at her mother before awkwardly sitting next to Abigail. "Mama said the same thing about Papa. I hope he comes home soon…" She looks up to Abigail, "Does singing that song help?"

Abigail stares at the girl sitting beside her, forcing a smile even as her heart sinks, Mary's innocent words dredging up painful memories, "Y-yes, a little. Do you want me to keep singing?" Mary smiles back and nods, her enthusiasm helping to dampen some of Abigail's melancholy, "Alright, here goes…"

_Albert Mooney says he loves her, and all the boys are fightin' for her._

_ Knock at the door and they ring at the bell, sayin' 'Oh my true love, are ya well?'_

_ Out she comes, as white as snow, rings on her fingers and bells on her toes._

_ Ol' Jenny Murphy says she'll die, if she doesn't get the fella with the rovin' eye._

"This' the chorus, Mary. _She is handsome, she is pretty…_" Mary wears a happy smile as Abigail sings, clapping along as the tempo rises. Abigail finds she's smiling herself as the chorus winds down.

_Let the wind and the rain and the hail blow high, snow comes shovelin' from the sky._

_ She is sweet as apple pie, she'll get her own lad by and by._

_ When she gets a lad of her own, she won't tell her Ma when she goes home._

_ Let them all come as they will, it's Albert Mooney she loves still._

Singing the chorus with all she can muster, Abigail glances at Mary and her family; Mary's still smiling and clapping, the little girl now humming along with her singing. Her brother seems to have relaxed, and is bobbing his head with the beat, and even their mother looks at ease now. Abigail allows herself another smile as she finishes, and Mary reaches to tug at her sleeve, "Is that all?"

"No, the song repeats again, but how 'bout we save the song for once we're well shut of this place?" Abigail feels another grin tugging at her lips as Mary nods, a big smile on her little face.

* * *

"… alright, that about does it. Give it here, Mary."

Abigail grins as the little girl hands her the strip of canvas, torn from the larger length encircling her arm. She'd just finished braiding her hair, not wanting stray strands getting in her eyes should violence become likely, and Abigail ties the end tightly with the strip. "Thank ya, Mary. Almost ready ta' go?"

"Yep!" Mary holds up a bag she'd stuffed with her most precious belongings, though most were simply toys and dolls. Glancing around the room, Abigail nods as she tosses the braid over her shoulder. The rest of Mary's family still busy themselves packing 'essentials', the brother squeezing a pair of toy soldiers into his bag while their mother packs more sensibly; clothing, Silver Eagles and some food.

Rising from where she sits with Mary, Abigail retrieves her Repeater before looking her weapons over, her nerves jittery from thoughts of what may happen once they step out the door. "Lookin' fine… damn, hope nothin' happens." Glancing at the shuttered windows, Abigail heaves a sigh, hoping the barge comes soon. "And that the pilot isn't opposed to my course…"

"Miss Abigail…" She turns as the mother speaks up, raising an eyebrow in surprise; this' the first time the mother had called her by name. "We… we're ready to go… whenever you are, of course."

"Alright, just… just call me Abigail." She breathes a quiet sigh, holstering her Hand Cannon and slipping the Repeater over her shoulder; she's not accustomed to being responsible for another life, much less the lives of children. And to make matters worse, Abigail can tell the mother is still leery of her motives. "Not that I blame her…" She sighs again, turning to step out of the bedroom as she mutters beneath her breath.

Turning to motion for the family to follow, Abigail feels a smile forming as she finds Mary hot on her heels. Kneeling so she's eye to eye with the child, Abigail brings a finger up to her lips, "Shh… keep as quiet as a mouse. Let's go."

Stepping out of the home and onto the street of Market District, Abigail unslings the Repeater, peering about the empty street with the weapon raised. But there's not a sign of life; no angry Vox, no scared civilians, and no Booker and Elizabeth blowing through like a force of nature. But the bodies… those still lie on the street where they fell.

"C-cover their eyes…" Abigail backs up to the door just as Mary steps through, turning to the mother, "Ya don't want 'em to see this." A look of horror crosses the woman's face as she peers over Abigail's shoulder, nodding slowly as she finally tears her gaze from the sight.

"C'mon, Mary, Peter, let's do what the lady says…"

"Peter." Abigail thinks as she turns and steps out onto the street, "So that's the boy's name, huh?" She can hear Mary and Peter object as their mother covers their eyes, but she's busy looking about the street, trying to find the best path to avoid the bodies of civilians and soldiers alike. "Down the stairs nearby looks the best... Alright, let's get goin'!" The family hurries from the darkened doorway, the mother doing her best to shield her children from the scenes of carnage strewn about the street.

"C'mon, keep your hand over your eyes, Mary." Abigail picks up the little girl as she comes within reach, the mother doing the same with Peter and the group hurrying down the stairs. A gasp sounds, and Abigail winces as she glances to her right; the men and woman who'd been captured had been lined up against a wall, the shots she'd heard before just what she'd thought they were. "At least the bastards who done it were put down…" A trio of Vox soldiers lay in crumpled heaps, left in the wake of Booker's passing.

"Can I open my eyes now?"

"Not just yet, Mary. We're almost there." Running down the street, Abigail breathes a sigh of relief; no new corpses litter their path, and she doesn't see anyone to oppose them, Vox or otherwise. "Alright…" Looking around as she runs up to the dock, Abigail finds the Wilson Bros. shop open, the lock picked and left on the steps. "So the Infusion was for them… alright, let's wait in here. Mary, you can open your eyes now."

The girl takes her hand from her eyes and blinks repeatedly, Abigail chuckling as she puts the child down. Peter appears a second later, and the siblings take a seat behind the counter, playing some sort of game. Abigail breathes a quiet sigh as she looks on, the top of their heads just barely visible above the counter.

"Miss Abigail… I just… thank you. I never thought someone like you would try to… try to help us." Abigail turns to the woman as she speaks. Now that they stand in the light of day, Abigail finally gets a good look; the woman can't be more than a few years older than she is, and if Abigail had to guess, she's in her early twenties at most.

"Don't thank me just yet… we're not safe till we're out of here…" A low droning sound comes from outside the shop, like an endless gust of wind, "Speak of the devil… wait here."

Running out of the shop, Abigail nearly cheers as she sees the cargo barge flying towards her, and she yells and waves as best she can, "Down here!" The barge still moves like a drunken mule as it descends, and Abigail breathes a quiet sigh, "It's almost over… oh… no…"

Her cheer is short-lived; Abigail can make out the forms of a half dozen Vox soldiers, all armed and ready for battle. "Why… why are they here? There's nothing left in Emporia…" As the barge pulls up beside the dock, Abigail's gaze darts back to the shop, seeing the mother peering out through the window and the children playing with something or other. "Dammit…" biting her lip in frustration, Abigail turns her attention back to the soldiers as they jump off the barge, the pilot stepping out onto the deck as if to get a better look, "is this day going to get even worse?"

* * *

**Author's note: Good question, what do you think? A few things: first, it might be a bit before Abigail's story explicitly links back to Unbroken; second, I spent a good deal of time looking for a period appropriate Irish folk song, and this is the one I found (the version I listened to was by the Young Dubliners). Thanks for reading, hope you enjoyed, and feedback is most welcome. What do you think is going to happen next time?**

**We'll see what I upload next week, have a few ideas kicking around in my head, most of which are at least partially written.**


	4. A Choice

**Author's note: Hey, this chapter's a little shorter than the others, but given what its about, I don't think there's much point in trying to extend it.**

* * *

Abigail stands in the middle of the street while the masked Vox soldiers approach, her mind racing as she struggles to come up with some sort of plan. The squad's made up of five masked men, plus the pilot who'd just jumped from the barge. All carry Repeaters or Burstguns.

The soldier who'd jumped from the barge first takes point, and comes up to her while the rest of the squad fans out some, Abigail noticing they're watching the windows and doors along the street. She hopes they're just being cautious.

"Hey, girlie," Abigail turns her attention back to the squad's point man, his brusque voice muffled by the thick mask, "Where's the rest of yer people? We'd been told ta' pick up eight of you and a Patriot."

"Wiped out." She keeps her voice quiet, Abigail hoping to keep her apprehension from showing. "B-… the False Shepherd came through, and the others… went after him and the Lamb. They told me ta' stay put, and they never came back…"

The soldier stares at her from behind the mask, and Abigail stares right back, not wanting to look suspicious; she'd had enough close calls with questions about her loyalty, and she scarcely wants another. Slowly, after nearly a minute of tense silence, the point man nods, "Alright, then. Get yerself aboard, we're headed for the airships after a couple a' stragglers get here."

"Airship?" Abigail's eyes widen in surprise, the words slipping out as her heart sinks; a Vox-controlled airship's no place to bring the family. "W-why?"

"Dunno exactly, but word is we're preparin' to make a final push on Comstock House. Been a tough nut to crack so far, but the Prophet's definitely inside; his airship's docked there. We're takin' it, and his pelt tonight!"

A cheer goes up among the other soldiers, and Abigail groans slightly, "Definitely no place for 'em." Abigail glances over at the store the family is hiding in, or at least trying to; she can make out the mother hurrying her children behind the counter.

"What're ya… whoa!" Abigail snaps her gaze back to the point man and curses beneath her breath; he'd followed her gaze, and is now staring directly at the family's hiding spot. "O'Malley, McCarthy! Get those-"

Her Repeater is up before he gets the first word out, the barrel digging into his sternum before he finishes, cutting the soldier off. "Leave. Them. Alone."

Her voice is deathly quiet, slow and deliberate as Abigail stares back at the point man, cold anger swirling up from within. She can only imagine the look she's giving him, for he hesitates and falls silent. The soldiers he'd called look over as they start towards the shop, but the point man is between them and her. Abigail gets a quick look at the pair as they slow to a stop, and she sees the same look in their faces as she did in her own squad mates' earlier.

Finally, the soldier looks down at the weapon pressed against his chest, "You turnin' on us, girlie?"

"That family's under my protection. If your intent's ta' harm 'em," she glares at the soldier, her quite voice practically burning with ill-concealed anger, "then yes, I'm turnin' against ya'."

She can almost see the point man seething beneath his mask, his shoulders shaking with rage as he brings his gaze up to meet hers. Abigail can read the writing on the wall, and she breathes a curse, "Dammit…"

"Traito-!" The report of the Repeater silences the soldier, his body crumpling on the street with three gaping wounds in his chest.

"I did it…" The thought crosses Abigail's mind as she watches him fall, the ease with which she'd done the deed drawing a mirthless grin across her face; there's no turning back now. Tearing her gaze from the corpse as it hits the ground, Abigail moves even as she begins to process her situation; the rest of the Vox stare back at her in shock, their weapons just starting to swing her way. Her left hand is up before the first of many shouts break the silence.

"Ya' want blood? Here!" Blackened, hooked claws spring from her fingertips and dark feathers cover her hand as Abigail calls upon her Vigor. Shouting turns into screaming as swarms of angrily cawing crows descend upon the Vox squad, the birds clawing and pecking each and every soldier bloody. Abigail can only stare in horror, transfixed by the carnage she'd wrought.

But the hesitation only lasts a moment, Abigail shaking herself aware as she reminds herself what was about to happen. The anger returns, coursing through her as Abigail brings the Repeater to bear and squeezes the trigger. The nearest Vox catches a quartet of bullets, the first tearing into his shoulder before the rest trace a path along his collar and up to his throat.

Bullets whiz past Abigail, forcing the redhead to duck to the left and run, she snapping off a short burst as she goes and hearing a pained cry for her effort. From the corner of her eye as she takes cover behind the Market District archway, Abigail notices that most of the crows had already dispersed, the remaining Vox rallying even though a handful of birds still peck and claw at them. Of the original six, only three remain standing, her last burst catching the hapless pilot in the stomach.

And then all three open fire, Abigail hitting the deck on instinct as bullets pang off the metal and shatter the green-tinted glass of her hiding spot. With glass raining down all around her, Abigail pushes herself up to crouch behind the archway's stone pillar, trying to get a shot off but nearly always being forced back into cover.

"Son of a…" Peeking out from behind the pillar, Abigail curses as she jerks back to avoid being shot; the soldiers are advancing on her position. What's worse, they're alternating fire, always one able to take a shot while the others reload. "And," she chuckles as she thinks, "they spread out so the crows won't get em' all at once."

"I need ta' move… I could run…" Abigail glances down the street leading back to Market District, but she slowly shakes her head, "No… can't run. I'd be leaving the babes at the mercy of this lot…" Looking up at the sky and resting the back of her head against the pillar, Abigail groans as hopelessness starts to take hold, "What should I do… what would he…"

An eerie sense of calm settles over Abigail as an idea comes to mind. Not a smart idea, not even a safe one, but for some reason, Abigail thinks it'll work. "Still got my Vigor, after all..." Rising to her feet, Abigail breathes a deep, slow breath, calling on the Vigor once more.

Dashing out of cover, Abigail sprints straight at the rightmost Vox, gritting her teeth as she tries to fire the Repeater one-handed. Bullets whiz by all around her like bees from hell, but Abigail pays them no mind. Even when one of tears into the soft flesh of her left shoulder, leaving a long, angry looking gouge.

'Click'. The soldier she's charging lowers his weapon, fumbling for a new clip even as the others resume firing. Just as Abigail hoped; her left hand comes up again, dark feathers and claws sprouting as she summons the crows. But she doesn't target the Vox she's charging; Abigail swings to the left, her outstretched hand directed at the other two.

Piercing screams replace the harsh reports of a Burstgun and Repeater, the murder of crows returning to peck at the solders' already ravaged skin. "It's just you an' I now, friend!" This time, Abigail doesn't spare the swarming crows a second glance, yelling instead as she charges. She can clearly see panic in her target; his hands shake as he tries to reload, looking up at her and back to the weapon frantically.

Slipping the Repeater's makeshift strap from her shoulder, Abigail roars as she slams the stock into the panicking soldier's jaw. A crunching sound emanates from beneath the mask, but Abigail's already turned away as the soldier falls, firing into the mass of crows until another pair of corpses fall atop the flagstone paved street.

"Oh my God…" Doubling over, Abigail drops the Repeater, out of breath and panting hard. The calm that'd come over her has vanished, leaving Abigail with the enormity of what she'd done; she'd finally betrayed the Vox Populi proper. Up until now, she'd only subverted her companions' bloodlust, but now… now it's official. She'd been right at the onset of the fight; this was the point of no return, and she'd gladly stepped past it. "Had ta' be done… right?"

A groan catches her ear, Abigail straightening after a concerted effort only to groan herself; the Vox soldiers whose face she'd rearranged with the butt of the Repeater stirs, trying to rise. But it's what he's reaching for that really gets her attention; a Burstgun, dropped by one of the soldier's dead comrades.

One last shot rings throughout Market District.

* * *

"I… I'm sorry…"

"What're you sorry for?" Abigail glances back at the woman. She'd spent the last few minutes dragging the fallen soldiers out of the sun, paying final respects of a sort to those she'd once considered comrades. For reasons she didn't quite understand, the woman had emerged from the store and stood nearby, watching quietly.

"You had to do… this… for us, Ms. Abigail…" The mother nods at the soldiers.

"Yeah… but it ain't your fault. Couldn't let them harm ya' or the kids…" Abigail shrugs, reaching back and drawing her braid to hang over her shoulder.

"Abigail?"

The young redhead freezes just as she's crossing the last soldier's arms. Turning slowly, Abigail groans again as she lays eyes on the speaker, "Vivian?"

Vivian Monroe stops in her tracks as she rounds the corner, her expression quickly twisting into one of shock and horror as she spots the bodies. Her mask is gone, the cowl and crown along with it, and her normally tidy hair looks disheveled. She has a handful of scrapes but nothing serious, and Abigail can't help but feel relieved.

"Wh… why? You… you killed all of them?!" Vivian's Hand Cannon rests by her side, her grip on the weapon visibly loose. Probably form the shock, Abigail decides, but that won't last long.

"Vivian, listen to me." Abigail carefully unslings her Repeater, dropping the weapon as she takes a step towards her friend, "This woman and her family don't deserve what's been happening. And they," Abigail motions towards the slain squad, "were going to do… things, to them. I'm certain of it."

"Th-the barge is here, they'd have just taken them…"

"They were headin' to the airships. Ya' think they were gonna take a Ma and her babes somewhere safe?" She shakes her head, stepping ever closer, "Viv, I know you're a believer, but this… this is wrong. Daisy didn't want this, not any of it…"

"You lie… Daisy wanted to kill all the Founders! You know what she did to Fink, and was going to do to his boy…" Vivian's spits back, her eyes suddenly ablaze as she defends Daisy's actions, and her motives. Her grip on her Hand Cannon is suddenly anything but weak.

"No, she didn't…" Abigail shakes her head, her braid falling from her shoulder, "I… I was listening in at the airship docks, just before she killed Fink." A lie, but the fragment of memory from Booker… no, Elizabeth's perspective, made it feel true enough, "She was talking with two others. She didn't want to hurt the boy, but they bade her to give the Lamb no choice… to make her into a woman. Daisy gave up her life so Comstock would fall, Vivian. So that Elizabeth would have the strength to see it through."

Abigail stops just out of arm's reach of Vivian, the conflicting emotions she can see on her friend's face giving the redhead a glimmer of hope. She still has enough Salts left to use her Vigor one last time, she can feel it, but Abigail truly hopes she doesn't have to hurt her friend. Looking Vivian in the eye, Abigail manages a smile, "I've got ta' take em' someplace safe. I swore that I would. Come with me, Viv." Slowly, Abigail offers Vivian her hand, the smile still on her face.

A tear runs down Vivian's cheek as a shuddering sigh escapes her, and she holsters her weapon before hesitantly reaching for Abigail's outstretched hand, "A-alright…" A timid smile appears as she takes Abigail's hand.

Abigail feels her smile grow as she exhales sharply, a breath she didn't know she was holding, "Oh, thank God… I'm so glad you said yes…" She nearly pitches forward, only managing to stay upright through sheer force of will; with the tension gone, all Abigail's got almost nothing left. "C'mon, let's get outta here…"

Vivian nods, tightening her grip on Abigail's hand even though her manner is still otherwise hesitant, "I don't kno- look out!"

Cawing fills Abigail's ears even as Mary and Peter's mother screams and Vivian shouts, her friend grabbing her by the shoulder and pushing her aside. As she falls away, Abigail turns in time to see the source of the noise; another swarm of crows slam into Vivian, the birds melting away into a figure clad in blood red robes and a pointed, face concealing hood. A flash of light glints off something metal as it swings down, and Vivian screams.

Rolling to a stop, Abigail pushes herself to her feet while drawing her Hand Cannon, bringing the weapon to bear only to freeze. Vivian lies in a heap on the flagstones at her attacker's feet, clutching at a slash across her shoulder. "Betrayer! You betray us, just like the False Prophet! Goddamn deceiver! " The man who'd attacked Vivian turns to Abigail, raising his longsword threateningly towards her.

"Crow. Just perfect…" Abigail grits her teeth as she growls, looking her enemy over; the Zealot wears the uniform of his former order, a sword emblazoned on his mask, and a large coffin is chained to his back. The tip of his sword drips with Vivian's blood. "Get inside." Abigail hisses, and the mother runs back into the shop.

"Die!" The Zealot melts into a charging swarm of crows, Abigail barely managing to dash out of the way as the longsword slams into the wall behind her. Abigail spins about as she goes, backpedalling and snapping off a pair of shot as she tries to get some distance between her and the crazed Crow. But the bullets pass right through him as the Zealot turns into a cawing flock of crows again, flying straight for her.

"Dammit!" Dodging to her left again, Abigail barely manages to avoid the blade as it swoops at her head, scrambling beneath it and past the deranged Crow. "Ya just had ta' pop up now, ya' crazy piece of shit!?" The Vigor comes to life as she rages, roaring at the Zealot as she releases her own murder of crows.

But the Zealot barely notices the birds whirling around him, "_She_ demands pain of death for all betrayers and pretenders, traitor!" The Zealot screams as he swings his longsword with reckless abandon, Abigail jumping back. But she's not quite fast enough; the razor edged tip draws a line of pain across her cheek, tracing burning agony from just past the corner of her right eye down to her jaw.

"D-dammit! Why aren't the crows working!?" Abigail curses as she ducks the blade again, trying to keep from screaming as the Zealot continues his assault, "Goddamn Crow!" She fire off another shot, the Zealot discorporating into a swarm of birds again and giving her a moment to breathe.

"Abby…" Vivian whispers, Abigail whipping around to find she's practically kneeling beside her friend, her voice weak and full of pain. Her eyes widen as Vivian struggles to draw her Hand Cannon only to have it fall to the ground, the effort leaving her spent.

Glancing back at the Zealot as he reforms, Abigail bolts for Vivian's weapon, grabbing the Hand Cannon while bringing her own to bear. But when she fires, her shot goes wide. The Zealot screams at her again as he raises his longsword overhead.

"Now the both of you die!"

Time seems to slow, Abigail watching the Zealot's blade arcing down towards her in slow motion. With Vivian at her back, Abigail can't run without leaving her friend to die, and she knows it. "Son of a…" With a Hand Cannon in each hand, Abigail screams back, raising both weapons as the blade comes down.

A clang of metal striking metal rings throughout the street, Abigail crossing the Hand Cannons and blocking the blade just long enough to parry the blow. Looking up into the Zealot's masked face, Abigail stares into his hate-filled eyes, growling, "Dodge this." She buries the Hand Cannons into his gut, squeezing the triggers as fast as she can.

Blood drips from the Zealot's mask and down her Hand Cannons, his eyes transforming from bearing fervid hatred to a look of incredible pain. The sword falls from his hands as the Zealot stumbles back, holding his bullet-riddled stomach and looking down, almost as if in disbelief. Abigail pushes herself to her feet, her weapons still raised as she stares at the Zealot.

"… you'll never escape…" The Crow falls as he spits the words.

"Son of a…" Abigail groans as she reaches for the cut on her cheek, wincing for a moment before breathing a sigh of relief. But the relief's short-lived, Abigail whipping around and kneeling to check on her friend.

Vivian's breathing is shallow but steady, her eyes half-lidded and unfocused. "But… that's a lot of blood…" Rolling Vivian over, Abigail's eyes widen as she sees the amount of blood ebbing from the gash in her shoulder, "I-I gotta stop it…"

"Here," Abigail whips around only to find Mary's mother standing behind her, strips of cloth torn from her skirt in hand, "press these against the wound until the bleeding stops. Just keep pressure on the wound."

"H-how do you know that?" Taking the offered cloth, Abigail does as the woman says even as she asks.

"My husband is… was… a doctor. I've learned a thing or two from him." A small smile touches the woman's lips, and both she and Abigail turn their attention to tending Vivian's wound.

* * *

**Closing words: So, her day did get a lot worse. Fight scenes aren't the easiest thing to write, but I hope this chapter was enjoyable, even though that's pretty much all that happened. As usual, any feedback is welcome, so please feel free. I'll be fixing any errors I find as I go, too.**

**Edit: For the record, the assault mentioned isn't the one experienced by Booker and Elizabeth, that one's a hell of a way down the line (voxophone dates place it on, more than likely, December 23rd or shortly after.)**


	5. To The Sky

Sitting quietly, Abigail watches as the woman beside her works to mend Vivian's wound. Among her belongings, Mary's mother had brought proper bandages and gauze, nearly the entire extent of her small supply now wrapped around Vivian's slashed shoulder. A wound inflicted by the same sword now resting at her side, on the cobblestone street. The rest of the medical supplies had been used to bandage her shoulder and cheek wounds, and Abigail absentmindedly paws at the bandages on her face.

She'd fired both revolvers over and over into the Zealot, and watching him fall had left her feeling satisfied. But once Vivian was resting easier, Abigail realized she's completely out of ammo; she hadn't brought more than what was in her guns, and Vivian looks to have used her own reserves well before she'd arrived. Effectively defenseless, Abigail had searched the weapons left behind by the Vox squad only to find they were all empty or nearly so.

"At least this doesn't have that problem…" Glancing at the longsword beside her, Abigail sighs quietly; the blade's a little too long and a little too heavy, but she can swing it around well enough. The sheath now hangs from her belt, slapping against her leg whenever she moves.

"There, that should do for now…" The woman wipes her brow with the back of her hand, her fingers bloody from her work, "but she'll need proper care soon. Someone to stitch her up, disinfect the wound if need be… whiskey would do, if we had some…"

"Thank you…" Looking down at her unconscious friend, Abigail allows herself a small smile; while her expression still looks pained, Vivian looks much more at ease now. "You're goin' ta' make it, Viv…" Rising slowly, her legs aching from kneeling for so long, Abigail steps away as she stretches, "I'll bring the barge low, can ya' manage her?"

Her companion nods, and Abigail makes for the cargo barge after sheathing the sword, the oversized ship still hovering at street level. If it was only her that needs the barge, Abigail needn't move it at all, but she doubts the children or their mother could make this jump, much less with Vivian in tow.

But as she steps out into the open, Abigail catches movement out of the corner of her eye. Whipping about, she reaches for her Hand Cannon on instinct as she affixes her gaze on the source of her surprise, and Abigail grits her teeth in frustration; she'd completely forgotten she's out of ammo. But she doesn't see Vox or Founder soldiers, but a tall woman standing quietly as she looks upon Abigail.

The woman's long, raven black hair flutters gently in the breeze, looking like a wave of midnight. She'd come from the direction of the Bank of the Prophet, and now stares back at Abigail from behind black-lensed glasses.

"What're ya' doin' out here? It's not safe, love!" Turning away from the barge, Abigail looks the woman up and down as she moves towards her. The stranger wears a long beige coat of some kind, ankle length and heavy enough to conceal a weapon easily, but Abigail doubts the newcomer's a Founder, much less with the Vox Populi. The stranger also carries a heavy looking, metal sided trunk in her left hand, seemingly at ease with the bulk and apparent weight.

"C'mon," Abigail holds up her hands peacefully, hoping the woman doesn't take her for a threat, "I'm takin' a family ta' safety, you're more than wel-woah!"

A flash of silver, and Abigail finds she's flat on her back with the wind knocked out of her, staring up at the sky in shock. Her mind barely registers pain in her right wrist, where a vice-like grip had closed around it. The woman sneers down at her, "Keep those filthy hands off your betters, tramp."

She barely hears the woman, Abigail still trying to make sense of what happened; the moment she'd gotten into arm's reach, the woman's fingers were around her wrist, and then she was flipping head over heels onto her back. The woman moved with impossible speed, and the wispy streak of silver light she'd seen trail her attacker's arm only added to Abigail's confusion. She'd only seen the light for a split second; could her eyes be playing a trick on her?

The mysterious woman steps away, moving down the street towards Market District. But as the raven-haired woman passes, Abigail spots something strange, something that causes the memories to stir like crazy; a bronze-colored circular emblem on the side of the gray metal of the trunk, of a lighthouse rising out of the sea with the sun on the horizon behind it.

She pushes herself to sit upright once the woman's stepped well away, wracking her mind over what that symbol meant. "Don't sound like she's from Columbia…" Climbing to her feet, Abigail cautiously watches the woman disappear around the corner, a gasp sounding from beyond. From Mary and Peter's mother no doubt, probably surprised by the stranger. "Whoever that is…" Abigail mutters quietly to herself as a gust yanks her braid from her shoulder, the coils of hair dancing in the wind, "best steer clear."

Trudging back up the street to where she'd left the family and barge, Abigail stops to check on the mother, she a little startled but otherwise alright. "Good…" Taking one last look at the dark-haired woman disappearing down the street into Market District proper, Abigail steps back towards the waiting barge.

"Here goes…" Abigail breaks out into a run as she approaches the barge, leaping with all her might the second her foot hits the edge.

Though her legs no longer ache, her body still protests as she lands on the deck, Abigail feeling weary and sore. "This day's just getting' better an' better…" Muttering beneath her breath, Abigail staggers to the cabin's open door, rubbing her sore wrist all the while, "Alright, let's bring ya' down a little…" The barge sluggishly obeys, Abigail directing the beast of a vessel low and slightly closer to the street. A 'clunk' sounds, and Abigail leans the busted windshield only to see the metal platform pushing up against the cabin's roof.

"Hope another street doesn't come an' crush us…" Staring at the metal platform's docking 'teeth', Abigail shakes her head as she imagines another of Columbia's floating districts squashing the cargo barge between it and Emporia.

"We're ready, Miss Abigail!" Mary appears overhead, atop the metal docking plate, her bag in hand and her mother and brother appearing a moment later. Vivian's draped over the mother's left shoulder, her own left arm now wrapped up in a makeshift sling and pressed tightly against her chest.

Mary steps down carefully onto the barge's cabin, Abigail reaching up for her and bringing the little girl down. Peter follows suit, his bag clinking on his back as he hops down. "Well, the easy part's done." Abigail groans quietly as she turns her gaze up to the children's mother, the woman stepping off the ledge tentatively.

"Careful…" She mutters the word beneath her breath as the mother and Vivian land solidly on the cabin's roof, a weak moan coming from Abigail's friend, almost as if in agreement. But the mother pays neither of the Vox women any mind, entirely focused on inching closer to the edge of the roof. Soon, she stands above Abigail, Mary and Peter, her expression one of worry as she looks down.

"Okay… here she comes..." Moving the injured Vox as gently as she can, Mary's mother kneels and brings Vivian down into a sitting position on the edge of the cabin roof.

"Alright, I got her legs…" Gripping Vivian's legs, Abigail starts pulling her friend down while the mother holds Vivian's right arm, still kneeling next to the injured woman and trying to guide her descent to the best of her ability. "So far so good…" Abigail breathes the words as she moves her grip up to Vivian's waist.

Finally, Abigail's got her arms around Vivian's midsection, the mother releasing her grip on the arm and letting Vivian drop over Abigail's shoulder. Another moan of protest sounds, and Abigail carefully lowers Vivian to the deck.

"Alright," heaving a sigh, Abigail picks herself up after checking Vivian's bandages, "your turn." Bringing the mother down is far easier, and not a few moments later, Abigail's stepping back into the cabin while the other woman embraces her children.

"Goodbye, Emporia." With everyone aboard and Vivian resting comfortably in front of the cabin, Abigail turns the barge away from the docking port. While the cargo barge is still sluggish, soon they're leaving Emporia, and all the death and insanity within, behind them.

"Oh, holy hell…" Abigail slumps over the controls, a sudden wave of exhaustion sweeping over her, "I… no, no… WE did it. I can barely believe we did it!" Pushing herself up from the steering wheel, she practically cheers as the fatigue is replaced by jubilation; they'd escaped, something she could scarcely have hoped was possible not an hour ago. A wide, goofy grin crosses face, and Abigail turns her thoughts to the family; they'd be safe, at least for now.

"You look pleased, Miss Abigail." The mother rises and turns towards her as Mary and Peter watch the clouds together, brother and sister playing some sort of word game, "Have you decided where you're taking us? To Arboria, perhaps?"

"No… Arboria's probably not a good place ta' drop the three of ya'…" Abigail frowns; Arboria's the 'nature' area of Columbia, mostly farmland where much of the floating city's produce comes from, though some of the islands are forested. While not a high priority for the Vox Populi now, Abigail's certain they'll attack there soon enough, once the city's firmly under control. Not to mention that most of the 'farmers' there are like the workers at Fink's; poor immigrants or outright prisoners, the latter kept under the watchful eye of soldiers. "Don't know, exactly…"

"How about… umm…" the mother steps up to Abigail, her hands on the sill of the empty window, "you take us to New Eden Square? Last I heard, the police were evacuating everyone to there."

"New Eden Square, huh…?" Abigail brings her gloved right hand to rub her chin; the Square is very close to the Church of Comstock and Raffle Square, as well as not too far from the headquarters of the Zealots. All are places the Vox Populi despise, but as far as Abigail knows, they aren't being targeted. Yet. "Alright. The Square it is, then." It might be dangerous for her, but Abigail knew there'd be danger the moment she'd resolved to protect this woman and her children. "And… just call me Abigail, alright?"

"Alright…" the woman looks Abigail in the eye, "t-then you can call me Patricia… Abigail."

A smile blossoms across Abigail's face, and she nods, "Of course, Patricia."

"Abigail?"

Mary's voice draws both her mother's and Abigail's gaze, the little girl climbing to her feet and walking over to them, stopping right beside Vivian. "What is it, Mary?" Abigail leans out the cabin, grinning at the girl.

"We're safe now, right?" Abigail nods, raising an eyebrow as Mary looks down, the little girl shifting her weight from foot to foot idly before speaking again, "Okay… you said we could sing again after we were… 'well shut of this place'?"

The young redhead laughs out loud as Mary slowly repeats what she'd said back in the house, "Sure did, ya' want ta' sing a little, Mary?" The little girl nods, smiling from ear to ear. Patricia nods as well when Abigail glances her way, Mary's mother stepping away to sit with her son. "Alright Mary, come on in an' try ta' follow along, 'kay?" Abigail takes a deep breath as Mary nods again, and she starts humming the moment the girl steps inside.

It doesn't take long for Mary to catch on to the rhythm again, and Abigail starts singing in earnest, skipping ahead a little.

_"She is handsome, she is pretty, she is the belle of Dublin City…"_

* * *

"Finally."

It'd taken over an hour with how slowly the barge flies, but they'd almost arrived at New Eden Square. The statue of Comstock still stands in in the center of the Square, no buildings docked nearby to obstruct her view of it, and Abigail's not sure how to feel about it; while the statue meant there were no Vox in the area, she still hates the Prophet with every fiber of her being. While Booker had shown her that most didn't deserve to be hated, he himself hated Comstock like nothing else, of that much they'd been of like mind of before their encounter.

"Get ready, darlings!" Calling out from the cabin, Abigail brings the barge around and descends towards New Eden Square, the Church of Comstock visible in the background as she does, "We're almost ready to disembark!"

"Mama, what's disembark mean?" Abigail chuckles as Mary looks up to her mother. Glancing down at the Square again, Abigail spies shapes moving about in the twilight, the shapes turning into crowds as the barge approaches. A pair of police gunships hover nearby, offloading additional refugees, and Abigail can make out the dark brown uniforms of Columbian police as light comes to life around the Square.

"Looks like we're at the right-whoa!" A scream comes from the crowd below, and Abigail can vaguely make out people turning and looking up. Then a bullet ricochets off the barge's hull.

"Get down!" The family does as Abigail shouts, Patricia pulling Mary and Peter to the deck and hugging them close as more gunshots pang off the hull. Abigail can make out panicked screams, the crowd below trying to get away even as the police officers holler for everyone to remain calm. "Dammit, shoulda known a Vox barge'll cause a panic…"

Luckily, the cargo barge's bulk protects its passengers, the firing police officers below the oversized hovercraft not able to see anyone above. And the barge continues to descend, Abigail gritting her teeth as she dials back on the throttle; the back of the Comstock statue's head is almost eye-level with her, and just being near it makes Abigail's skin crawl.

"Hold your fire!" Abigail shouts from the cabin, slipping out the door opposite from where the gunfire's coming from. But the bullets keep coming. "Dammit, I said," anger courses through her veins, and Abigail takes a deep breath, "HOLD YOUR FIRE!" Bellowing with all she can muster, Abigail finds herself smirking as the reports of Broadsider pistols fall silent, and she cautiously starts towards the starboard side of the barge.

But her roar only caused the shooters to hesitate, and Abigail drops flat as gunfire erupts from below once more. Gritting her teeth, Abigail crawls closer and closer to the edge, if for no other reason than to fling obscenities down at the police. The blade she'd appropriated drags along the deck, and Abigail loosens the clasp holding it to her belt, leaving it behind.

A lull in the hail of bullets leaves Abigail in near-silence as she makes the edge, only the sound of weapons being reloaded reaching her ears. Peering over the edge, Abigail sees a sea of white faces, looking back at her with fear in their eyes, the crowd of civilians still trying to get away from her as quickly as possible. "It'll turn into a stampede..."

Breathing a quiet, tense sigh, Abigail raises her hands for all to see, shouting for the third time, "Hold your fire! I've brought survivors from Emporia!"

"She speaks the truth!" Patricia shouts the moment Abigail's voice fades away, crawling over to join her at the edge, "She just wants to deliver us to safety!"

A murmur rises from the crowd. No bullets fly, no angry shouts tossed up from the police officers, and Abigail rolls to the side to look Patricia in the eye, "I'm… I'm goin' to stand, carefully. Stay down until…"

"No. They might shoot you. We stand together." Abigail stares back at the woman beside her, the implicit meaning of her words not lost upon the young redhead; Patricia's risking her life for a Vox's sake. Slowly, Abigail nods, mouthing 'thank you' as Patricia shouts over the side again, "We're standing up now! Please don't shoot us!"

"Hold your fire… let's see what they want." A woman's voice sounds in response, and Abigail and Patricia rise in unison. Gasps sound from below as they do, and Abigail seeks out the police officers and especially the one who'd spoken up, only allowing herself to breathe when she finds none are pointing weapons at her.

"Umm… anybody care ta' help these three down?"

* * *

"Well, that went better than I imagined." Leaning on the controls, Abigail grins; though it'd taken near half an hour, Patricia had managed to convince the police that their Vox companion wasn't going to hurt anyone. Once it'd become clear she wasn't a threat and what her purpose was, the police officers retrieved a boarding plank, and she'd pulled the barge over to rest beside the Square. Patricia's still speaking with two of the officers while the children gather the toys they'd removed from their bags on the trip. Luckily, none had tried to board the barge in the meantime.

"Excuse me! Miss Abigail?"

A voice calls out to her from the edge of the crowd, stirring Abigail from her thoughts. "Ahh… what now? I'm so tired…" She grumbles quietly as she steps from behind the controls, peeking her head out the cabin, "Yeah?"

A man in a suit presses up against the railing on the edge of the Square, perilously close to falling off. He wears a red bowtie and a fedora, and carries a notebook and pen in hand. "Hi there, the name's Ed, Ed Gaines. Just wanted to ask some questions, if you don't mind."

"Questions? Why?" Abigail eyes the man suspiciously; she'd had a long day, and really doesn't feel like explaining herself to some nosy, privileged fool. Or worse, to a Vox sympathizer who'll rat her out to Downs.

"Because, I'm a writer, and not just any writer; Father Comstock asked me to write his biograph. The story of a lady Vox coming to the rescue of a distressed, God-fearing family sounds to me like easy silver. Maybe it'll even change how people look at the Vox!" He bobs his head enthusiastically, a smile plastered across his face, "Just a Vox NOT… uh…" Ed seems to realize just who he's talking to, and Abigail glares daggers at him as he ledges foot firmly in mouth.

"I didn't save 'em so some hack can spin a tale 'bout it. I did it because it was the right thing ta' do." Still glaring at the writer, Abigail keeps her tone as even and civil as possible, "And the Vox don't care what people think of them, not anymore. Their blood's a boilin', an' ya' best not provoke 'em."

"I take it you've a difference of opinion with the rest of your people." Ed taps the end of his pen against his right cheek, and Abigail self-consciously brings a hand up to her bandaged wound. "The young miss over there won't say, but you had a tough time of it, didn't you? How many Vox did you kill? Ten? Twenty?"

"Alright, Ed, step off." A woman emerges from the crowd, pushing Ed aside, "Miss Abigail, I'd like to speak with you. I'm Lieutenant Mailer." Abigail raises an eyebrow in surprise; the woman before her is the same who'd called off the gunfire before, her brown uniform bearing the insignia of her rank on the shoulder. Taking a deep breath, Abigail nods.

"First, on the behalf of the citizens gathered here, I'd like to offer you our thanks. It may not look it, but your actions have lifted the spirits of many here, and are much appreciated. Now, on a more personal note," Lieutenant Mailer leans closer, and Abigail steps from the cabin so they're face to face, "I'd like to ask what you intend now. The war is still raging, and for one like you, the Vox are as much a danger as the military."

"The Founders are still my enemy, Lieutenant." Abigail crosses her arms, "I can't just forget about what they've done ta' me and mine. But babes like Mary and Peter, and their Ma, they don't deserve ta' be hurt…" She heaves a sigh as the police officer nods, Abigail shaking her head, "The Vox don't know anythin' yet, I should be fine for the time being."

With that, Abigail turns to step back into the relative safety of the cabin, only stopping to glance at the Lieutenant one more time, "Umm, Lieutenant Mailer… is your name Esther, by any chance?"

Surprise registers on the police officer's expression, "Yes… how did you know?"

She shrugs, scratching her head, "Just... a hunch. Take care of 'em, will ya'?" A smile tugs at Abigail's features as she steps into the cabin, carefully stepping around the unconscious Vivian. She and Patricia had moved Vivian inside after docking, and Abigail's friend still slumbers in relative peace.

Staring out into the clouds, Abigail lets herself relax, keeping an eye on the ramp as she waits for the children to finish packing their things and enjoying the relative peace of the moment. Moments become minutes, and Abigail vaguely notices Peter stand with his backpack in place. Minutes more pass, and Abigail wonders what's taking so long.

"Abigail?"

Mary's voice catches Abigail by surprise, she turning quickly only to find the child standing just outside the cabin, staring at her through the broken windshield. Stepping out, Abigail kneels before Mary, wondering how the little girl kept surprising her, "What's the matter, lass?"

"You aren't coming with us?" The little girl's voice is low and sullen, almost sulking. Her head hangs low, but she looks up at Abigail, "Mama said I have to say goodbye…"

"That's right, Mary. I can't go with ya'. But it'll be alright; ya' got your Ma and brother, right?" Mary nods her lower lip trembling a little, and she lifts her head to look Abigail straight in the eye. But what happens next catches the redhead by surprise; Mary wraps her little arms around her neck, hugging firmly and not letting go.

Abigail doesn't know what to say, or do. The child had grown fond of her, this much she knew from before they left the house back in Emporia, but this just leaves her shocked. Tentatively, Abigail brings an arm around to encircle Mary, gently returning the hug. A smile touches Abigail's lips, and they stay that way for a good long moment. When Mary finally slips out of the hug, it's with no small amount of hesitation, and Abigail finds herself not wanting to let go.

"Goodbye, Mary." Abigail waves as Mary stops at the top of the boarding ramp, the little girl waving back and smiling before running to her mother.

Left kneeling there with the still suspicious gaze of some of the police on her, Abigail only rises once the family she'd brought to safety disappears into the crowd. "Alright…" stepping back into the cabin, Abigail turns to her still sleeping friend, "Let's get you back, Vivian."

* * *

"… mmm…"

Her eyes open, and Abigail finds herself in a dark room. No, the room itself isn't dark; windows dot the wall she's facing, but all she see can see outside are stars.

Sitting up in bed, Abigail yawns quietly, rubbing her eyes as her mind begins to wonder how she got here. "Last thing I remember is… sayin' goodbye ta' Mary…" Confused, she picks herself up from bed, her eyes adjusting to the darkness even while her mind tries to wake up. She still wears her uniform, though the holsters, hers and Vivian's Hand Cannons and the sword she'd taken from the Zealot all lie on the floor, dropped apparently without a care in the world.

Then it all comes back to her. Upon returning to the factory, she'd only found a few Vox left within, all disaffected by the path the Vox Populi had taken. Luckily, one was a field medic with some actual medical training, and he'd taken care of Vivian. Abigail smiles as she relives the relief she'd felt upon hearing her friend will be alright.

"And after that… I…"

"You fell fast asleep. For eight hours straight, I might add."

Somehow, the sudden appearance doesn't bother Abigail much, and she turns towards the new arrival, "What do you want, Rosalind?"

"Simply curious." Rosalind Lutece stands by the door, hands clasped as always and looking as bored as ever. "And, I wish to test a hypothesis. Would you care to see them again?"

Them. Booker and Elizabeth. The pair who'd rocked Abigail's very being. Hesitantly, Abigail answers, the ordeals she'd been through already fading and losing their edge after a good night's sleep, "Y-yes."

A Tear opens, and a smile touches Abigail's lips; Elizabeth stands in an apartment, Booker's New York apartment, holding a baby in her arms and singing. "That must be Anna…" No sooner had she spoken than Booker appears, stepping into the apartment and carrying bags of all sorts.

Abigail sinks down onto her bed, a cot, really, as she watches the family have breakfast. Rosalind stands in the corner in silence, as impassive as ever. But Abigail notices that the scientist is also watching the family, with a degree of interest far greater than she'd expect of the scientist.

Out of the blue, Elizabeth jerks around to stare straight back at Abigail, and the young redhead can't help but gasp as their gazes lock. Elizabeth's eyes seem to search for something, but even then they seem to see more than she should.

"That's… not possible." Abigail looks away just as Elizabeth does, the Tear closing as she focuses on Rosalind Lutece. For once, the unflappable Rosalind looks surprised, though the scientist manages to reassert her calm demeanor a moment later, "The girl shouldn't have been able to notice us." Touching her chin with thumb and index finger, Rosalind looks lost in thought for a moment. "Perhaps someone else was watching, as well…"

"Doesn't matter much, anyhow." Abigail rests her arms on her knees, leaning on them, "They're both safe… and look happy." A smile spreads across Abigail's face again, though she's not sure why.

"I suppose this proves my hypothesis." Rosalind nods, "Good day…"

"Wait." Abigail rises, "Where are they now? Not the Booker I met or his Elizabeth. This… the Booker and Elizabeth we saw at your lab."

Rosalind turns slowly, peering at Abigail as one might a precocious child. "Why?"

"Because, I…" Abigail stops mid-sentence, her jaw hanging open slightly as she tries to finish the thought. Why does she want to know? Finally, Abigail takes a breath, staring Lutece in the eye, "I don't know, all I do know is I want to."

Rosalind Lutece stares at her silently, the unchanging expression of hers betraying nothing. "Very well. Telling you now won't do any harm." Abigail raises an eyebrow in surprise as Rosalind speaks, "The girl has been captured, and is being held in Comstock House. She's undergoing mental and physical persuasion, of sorts, by Comstock's scientists."

"W-what?" Her own voice catches her by surprise, and Abigail covers her mouth with both hands.

"And as for him, he's been taken through a Tear by an older version of the girl. She'll send him back into Comstock House on December 23-"

"Wait… DECEMBER?!" This time, Abigail's not at all surprised by her voice, and she jumps to her feet while shouting, "She's… Elizabeth's being tortured, and has to suffer for six MONTHS?! Why?"

Rosalind remains silent as Abigail shouts, only speaking once the young woman's finished, "I don't know why she went about in such a manner, only that she did. I suppose I could ask…"

"No." Abigail rubs her eyes, an idea forming, "I… can you let me talk to her? This… older Elizabeth?"

Now Rosalind stares back at Abigail, an eyebrow rising in surprise, "It's… not an impossibility. There is a Tear I can send you through, but such an act would certainly threaten-"

"There're questions needing answers, and if ya won't tell me, I hafta ask someone who will. And… the more I learn 'bout their story… the more I need to know how it all ends." Abigail steps up to Rosalind, her voice pleading, "Please, give me a chance. Send me there before Booker finds her…"

The redheaded scientist stares back at Abigail, remaining silent, but neither does she refuse or disappear. Finally, she nods, "I shall consider it. Just know the risks you're taking, all in the search of answers."

* * *

**Author's Note: So, a few things. In regards to the mentioned Arboria area, I've always thought that Columbia had to be a hell of a lot bigger than what we saw in Infinite, and on top of that, they must've had a way to produce their own food. Given Columbia's isolation, importing that much food gets to be a handful real fast. Also, yes, the police lieutenant near the end is Esther Mailer, who died in the first reality. This is the third.**

**I hope you enjoyed the chapter, and if there's anything that you'd like to say, I welcome any and all feedback. And as usual, small fixes will occur from time to time.**


	6. The Other Lamb

"Apologies, but I must part company with you for the time being. I shall return shortly." With that, Rosalind Lutece disappears, leaving Abigail alone in the dark room.

"Just like that?" Shaking her head, Abigail heaves a sigh as she sinks back down onto the bed. Each new piece she learns of Booker and Elizabeth's increasingly tragic story only serves to draw her ever deeper, and Abigail hangs her head as she contemplates the latest that Rosalind had decided to leave her with.

"Six months…" Shuddering as she tries to imagine the hell Elizabeth must be suffering through; the stories of the Founders' 'routine' interrogation techniques are well known to the Vox Populi, but Comstock and his scientists probably aren't looking for answers. "More like they're meanin' ta' break the girl…" It's only small comfort that Abigail's seen Elizabeth safe and sound.

But even as she grimaces at the knowledge of this Elizabeth's situation, a wave of fatigue courses through Abigail; even after a good night's rest, she's still plenty tired after her own ordeal.

"Once she'd gotten clear of Columbia, Elizabeth must have slept for three days straight… Booker too…" Muttering softly to herself as she lies back down on the makeshift bed, Abigail yawns into the pillow, "Better not be any nightmares waitin' for me about this…"

Even as she mutters the last, her eyes are already closing of their own volition, a haze settling over her thoughts. As darkness takes her, Abigail's last thought before succumbing to sleep's embrace is of those two again, and she wonders why she cares so.

* * *

"Booker… you there?"

Abigail's eyes snap open as a distinct, all too familiar voice fills her ears, though it's a voice she's only heard a few times in person. "Elizabeth…? No… not this…" Abigail groans wearily, realizing what she's witnessing; Booker's nightmare, Elizabeth's story as he'd witnessed it, the memories of his that she'd somehow come to possess awakening in her slumber, "Why now? I just want ta' sleep…"

Watching as Elizabeth wakes her way through Fink's private quarters and beyond, Abigail feels a grin coming on as she realizes it was indeed Elizabeth who'd knocked out each and every one of her comrades in that wing of Fink's factory. "That Plasmid looks… interestin'…" Muttering to herself quietly as she watches Elizabeth knocks out yet another Vox soldier while invisible, and Abigail's grin widens as she shakes her head; the girl's got spunk. "She's a DeWitt alright…"

But then the scene disappears as Elizabeth climbs out of an air vent and watches a recording of herself as a child and Songbird. The scene that materializes before her leaves Abigail unnerved, and she has to grit her teeth as she relives a particular moment; the vision is of Booker's time in the factory, just after she'd shot him. Seeing herself clad in that hateful mask, hearing her own voice scream after Booker as he runs, Abigail finds herself in a cold sweat, and it takes her until Booker bursts into the abandoned lab to realize it's both Booker's pain and her anxiety that's gripping her.

Vision after vision and scene after scene assaults Abigail's mind, coming faster and faster till nearly a blur. Bits and pieces of Booker's journey through Columbia become more coherent, and Abigail experiences everything he did in these snippets, including his feelings towards Elizabeth. The entirety of Booker's time in Rapture appear next, up until the two of them jumped through the Tear to escape the Vox Populi and return to the underwater city.

And then Abigail witnesses Elizabeth's journey. Not all of it, the majority a blur of monsters and darkness, but it becomes crystal clear at the very end. The anguish Booker felt as he watched Elizabeth pass away hits Abigail like a train, and she'd fall to the floor and sob if only she were able to.

The visions fade as she suffers, and she finds herself in a strange apartment somewhere far removed from Columbia. The place feels familiar to Abigail, warm and comforting, as if she's known this place for many a year. She sits on a sofa before a television, the newscaster describing something or other that'd happened on the New Year, while a radio nearby plays a sorrowful song. After a moment, Abigail's eyes grow wide as she recognizes the song; the song is Elizabeth's, the song she could only partially make out before. But even as the song plays, she's not comfortable; something has her on edge, yet what is she doesn't know. The tension only grows as a sound of a door opening comes from somewhere nearby, and a man appears beside her. Her son.

"Wait, what?" Abigail's stares in shock at the man her mind registers as her eldest son, her mind reeling as he helps her to her feet. It's only then that she notices her hand; it's worn and wrinkled, and Abigail finally realizes what this is. "The other me…" Something warm and wet touches her upper lip, but she finds she can't move to touch it.

Outside, the rest of her family's waiting, and they all make for the exit once she's joined them. Looking around, Abigail recognizes 'her' youngest son, daughter-in-law, and granddaughter, though she can't remember their names for the life of her. "Must be going senile… this isn't my-whoa!"

The next thing she knows, she's on the floor and in great pain; an explosion rocked the building, and she couldn't keep her feet. But the explosion did more than knock an old woman to the ground. The ceiling's collapsing, and she's already pinned beneath the rubble.

"No…" Abigail whispers as she watches herself wave her family away, to get out before the whole building comes down. It's agonizing, watching her family struggle to dig her free, only to fail. The last she sees as the rubble buries her is the red hair of her five year old granddaughter, running with her mother and daughter to safety. As darkness envelops her, she feels a name on the tip of her tongue, and Abigail closes her eyes as she whispers, "Goodbye, Rose…"

* * *

"…bigail? Abigail!"

Abigail jerks awake, the intensity of the memory laden dream leaving her shaking and in a panic. But it's more than just that; her other self's final moments seem etched in her mind, and Abigail sees that collapsing building again whenever she closes her eyes.

"Calm down, Abigail. Can you hear me?" Looking up, Abigail finds the Chinaman she'd left Vivian with standing at her bedside, the young man's voice remarkably free of accent and he looking quite concerned.

"Y-yeah…" Fresh warmth touches her lip again, and Abigail finds her fingers coming away bloody. The blood runs along the sides of her face and down her mouth, and Abigail finds quite a bit is dried on her skin. "I must look a fright…"

"You've been bleeding profusely from the nose for a while now. Never seen anything like it, thought I'd need to get you a transfusion at this rate."

"It… it's nothing…" Shaking her head, Abigail pushes herself from the bed; no way can she tell the medic she's suffering from Tear sickness, or explain what that even means. Wiping what she can of the blood from her nose and face, Abigail turns to the young man, "What're ya' doin' in here, anyway?"

"Came to tell you Vivian's doing fine, and she'd regained consciousness not too long ago. And to check on your wound, while I'm at it."

"Oh… oh! That's fantastic!" She'd hug the man if she wasn't in such a state, but settles for shaking his hand instead. Taking a breath to calm herself, Abigail still can't keep a grin off her face as she thanks the medic again, "Thank you so much! I'll come see her soon… and I'm doing fine, it's not bleeding anymore." She touches a finger to the bandage running down the right side of her face, and the medic heads for the door with but a nod. But once he's gone, the smile fades, and she turns to gaze at the blood staining the bed sheets where her head had been. This latest bout with the memories had been nearly as terrible as the first, and experiencing the death of her other self still has her shaking.

"You seem to have had a rather upsetting experience." Abigail damn near screams in surprise at the voice, and she whirls about only to find Rosalind Lutece standing there. "Perhaps you'd like to postpone this proposed venture of yours?"

"No! No…" Shaking her head, Abigail takes another breath before continuing, "Just let me get cleaned up first… I'm still wantin' ta' talk with this… other Elizabeth." Finding a rag, Abigail starts wiping the dried blood from her face; she scarcely wants to meet this elderly Elizabeth with blood smeared on her features.

* * *

"Hell's bells! It's cold!"

Stepping out of the Tear half an hour later, Abigail can only shout in surprise at the snow and cold winds that greet her. "I know its December, but… where's the damn roof?!" She's still more than a little disturbed by her recent spat with the memories, but Abigail's here for a reason, Tear sickness be damned.

She stands in a hallway of sorts, snow blocking the doors along the wall before her and the floor collapsed in some places. "But it's definitely Columbia…" The pillars and angel statues lining the walls are definitely Columbian architecture, and she can make out the central tower of Comstock House overhead through the broken roof. The sound of gunfire echoes from somewhere deeper within the building, Abigail jumping at the sound.

"And who are you?"

Turning about slowly, Abigail finds herself staring up at a woman cloaked in shadows, standing above her in a doorway beyond which there appears to be nothing. There isn't a trace of emotion in the woman's voice, nothing like the young woman Abigail had seen in the memories and with her own eyes, "Are you… Elizabeth?"

"Yes… how is it that you aren't familiar with me? All in Columbia…" The woman leans forward, the light from the blasted out roof finally illuminating her worn features. Despite the tired, wrinkled face that greets Abigail, the eyes are the same as ever; it is Elizabeth, in the flesh. "You wear the colors of the Vox Populi. I'll never forget them. I thought I wiped out your kind long ago, how is it you come to stand before me?"

"A Tear. I came ta' ask why ya' let the younger you suffer for months? Why don't ya' send Booker back ta' when he was taken?" Taking a step back so she doesn't have to crane her neck as much, Abigail lets it all out at once, her recent surge of memories still leaving her a little blunt and frayed around the edges.

"… how do you know about that? About Booker…?"

"Because I met him. Because Lutece. And because," tapping her temple with a finger, Abigail grins mirthlessly up at the older Elizabeth, "I have some of his memories in my head, somethin' he left me with after we fell through a Tear." Staring up at Elizabeth, Abigail finds the cold doesn't bother her so much anymore; imagining what this woman must have suffered through, anger wells up within her as she does so. "I know some of what's ta' come. I know that the two of 'em will put an end ta' Comstock, and I know they have ta' part. I know Booker's comin', and I can't be here when he does."

"I… see." Elizabeth straightens and steps to the edge of the doorway, seeming to study Abigail as she's once again hidden in shadows. "Perhaps you should explain how you came to know this. Then, I will give you my answer."

"Fair enough…" Abigail nods gravely, staring up into Elizabeth's deep blue eyes, "I'll explain it to ya'. I met Booker in Fink's factory, while you an' your Booker were leavin', just…" Describing her encounter with Booker back in Fink's secret wing, and what'd happened with the Tear, Abigail watches Elizabeth intently as she does, the expression on the old woman's weathered face changing slightly as she goes; at first there's displeasure at the mention of she shooting at Booker, then relief at the escape through the Tear, confusion at how Abigail came to possess Booker's memories, and finally joy when she backs up to relate Booker talking about his daughter.

"I also know who ya' really are, Elizabeth. I know you're Booker's daughter, not Comstock's... I know your real name's Anna." Abigail breathes a sigh as the happiness drains from the old woman's face. All that's left is sadness in its place, and Abigail can't help but feel a pang of sympathy for this Elizabeth. Despite all she's done, explained to her by Rosalind Lutece, this Elizabeth is still just another of Comstock's victims. "He looked happy when he spoke of Anna…"

"Why…" Elizabeth retreats further into the shadows, turning her gaze out into the emptiness beyond, "Why was Booker even there? He should have been at home, with his daughter."

"But he didn't have you." That gets Elizabeth's attention. "Booker meant ta' save Elizabeth. He's had… had nightmares, and visions, seeing her…" Abigail falls silent; she hasn't told this Elizabeth what became of the girl. "Elizabeth lost her power and was tryin' ta' save someone. He saw Elizabeth… he saw her die."

"Die?" Elizabeth's gaze falls, despair touching her features. "I'd always hoped… once everything was set right, that she'd still exist, and could be happy…" Even in the dark, Abigail can make out the forlorn look in Elizabeth's eyes. "What… what happened? Did Booker…?"

A nod. That's all she can manage as she recalls the nightmare's end, and Abigail has to cover her mouth to suppress a whimper. But even so, Abigail catches a hint of a smile tugging at Elizabeth's lips, the old woman turning away.

"Thank you. I never asked you your name, and I suppose it doesn't matter, but thank you nonetheless." All trace of emotion is gone from Elizabeth's voice once more, only the weariness from before present, "To answer your question… it took everything I had to bring Booker here. To open the Tears so he could understand what was being done to her… to me. My powers have withered over the years as I became… a shell of my former self. It is but a shadow of what the other girl will be able to call upon. But even if I could send him back to that exact time… I wouldn't."

"Wha…? Why not? Ya' could save Elizabeth so much pain!"

"She needs the willpower and fortitude to end Comstock, once and for all. Without it, the girl will surely run away with Booker, rather than face what needs to be done… than putting a stop to this whole… sad story…"

"… Lutece never told me how she did it, only that they wouldn't be together after the end. How…" Abigail hesitates, almost certain that the answer wouldn't do her peace of mind any good. But she still has to know, "How do they stop Comstock? And why couldn't they be together when the deed's done?"

"Because, Miss Vox…" Elizabeth brings her gaze back to Abigail, "Booker DeWitt and Zachary Comstock are one. A single choice separated them, defined them…" Abigail only half hears Elizabeth's explanation, the shock of the revelation too much for the young redhead. "After the battle at Wounded Knee, Booker sought forgiveness at baptism. Booker refused, turning away from the baptism. Comstock didn't, accepting his new, guiltless life."

"No…" Abigail falls to her knees in the snow, barely registering that Elizabeth's stopped explaining. "A mirror… just like I saw. Like… the me in Rapture…? So that's why Comstock took you?"

"Yes. And Booker will realize that, to end it all… he has to die." Elizabeth's voice quavers as she says it, the swell of emotion in her voice surprising Abigail again. "They erase Comstock at the moment he would be born. That is why they must 'part', as you put it; the girl drowns him in the river Comstock was baptized in, and Booker accepts it. He is the one who must pay down all of our accounts… and he realizes that's what must be to undo what he's done."

"But he survives. He doesn't remember, but he does." Rising to her feet, Abigail wipes away the touch of tears from her eyes, her resolve returning, "The Booker I met is the same Booker as the one comin' here, the memories taught me that all too well; the bond they share is proof of that."

A bellowing sound rips through the air, Abigail wincing at the horrid noise. "It's time. Booker will be here shortly. You must go, Miss Vox." Looking up at Elizabeth as her voice somehow pierces the din, Abigail heaves a quiet sigh, knowing it to be true but wishing she had more time.

"The last I saw, Elizabeth was with Booker and Anna. A family, and happy at that." Abigail shouts back as the noise dies down, the Tear opening behind her, "They were… they were eatin' croissants, and…" She doesn't know why, but Abigail can't help but feel it right to leave Elizabeth something, a hint of the life the other Elizabeth now has. Something to maybe leave her with a little happiness.

"Thank you." Elizabeth turns away as the sound of fighting comes ever closer. "You should go." It seems Lutece has opened the Tear for your return." Turning and reluctantly trudging towards the Tear, Abigail can't help but feel as if she's missed something, something important that shouldn't be overlooked. Tears, other worlds, other selves…

"Wait!" Just as she's about to step over the threshold, Abigail stops and spins around, her voice a shout, "What about this world's Elizabeth?"

"Hmm?" Elizabeth turns back to look at Abigail, her expression curious, "What do you mean?"

"You and Booker came through a Tear to this world. The Booker DeWitt of this world never found his Elizabeth, saying that she'd been spirited away before he got to her. He died a martyr for our cause… and 'his' Elizabeth had been taken to Comstock House already. Where… where is she?"

"I… don't know. Perhaps the answer exists somewhere in your time, Miss Vox, but it has most likely returned to dust by now. Why? Why do you…?" The elderly Elizabeth shakes her head, heaving a quiet sigh, "It matters not. Perhaps you'll come upon the answer someday, but now… now you must go; he's almost here."

"A-alright…" Backing up into the Tear, Abigail watches the lonely figure in the dark until she can no longer as the Tear envelops her, obscuring her vision of the dark future world and the future Elizabeth along with it. "Goodbye, Elizabeth. I hope ya' took some comfort from what I told ya'…"

* * *

The Tear leaves Abigail stumbling as she returns to 1912, the young woman nearly falling as her foot catches on something. When she finally gets her feet under her, Abigail finds Rosalind Lutece standing before her as the Tear closes between them.

"Welcome back. I take it you're satisfied now?" Rosalind quips as she clasps her hands before her, and Abigail nods slowly.

"Thank you… an' yeah, sorta…"

"So, did you find the answers you sought?"

"And then some…" Abigail peers back at Rosalind as she drops onto the bed, still stained with blood from her nosebleed, "Booker and Comstock… you were right; I wouldn't have believed a word of it." Staring back at Rosalind, Abigail wonders if she should ask about the 'other' Elizabeth for a moment before shaking her head, "Doubt I'd get a straight answer outta her, anyway. Hell, never mind…"

"Then that's the end of it. So now you know their story, might I ask what you're going to do now?" Stepping closer, Rosalind comes to stand beside Abigail's bed with a mildly curious look about her.

"Find… no… what am I going to do?" Abigail thinks to herself, the lingering emotions left in the wake of the memories particularly affecting her feelings towards the Lamb, especially after her meeting with the elderly Elizabeth; she realizes that it's probably Booker's sentiment from having his memories and not her own that's fueling her actions, but she just can't shake it. How can she be sure the memories aren't affecting her more than she realizes? It's this doubt that draws a groan from the young redhead, and Abigail rests her head in her hands for a moment.

Breathing a deep sigh, Abigail looks up at the curious scientist after several heartbeats, "I'm thinkin' the Vox need ta' be set straight. Got a few in mind who can help me, can I count on ya' to be one of 'em?" She'd rather not be soul searching with Lutece staring at her.

"Perhaps." Rosalind continues to stare at her with that mildly curious, mildly bored and incredibly aggravating expression, "But for now, I shall be leaving you. I've somewhere to be."

"Ah!" Abigail raises a hand quickly as Rosalind turns to leave, the peculiar scientist stopping for a moment, "Can I ask ya' for somethin'? Will ya' tell Booker 'thank you' for me?"

Rosalind simply stands there, looking Abigail over as she seemingly considers her request. And just as Abigail open her mouth to ask again, Rosalind nods curtly, "Very well. I shall relay your message."

Begrudgingly climbing to her feet, Abigail makes for the door as she's suddenly left all on her own, even as she feels her weary body urge her to curl up in bed and go back to sleep. But after the cold and isolation she'd felt from Elizabeth and the memories that made her last nap anything but restful, Abigail has no intention of simply going back to bed.

Wandering out into the hallway, Abigail finds the rest of the soldiers she'd encountered gathered around a makeshift campfire. Vivian's among them, awake and upright, though with a pained look about her. Abigail finds her feet slowing as she lays eyes on her friend, a smile teasing at her lips, "Viv…" Her voice draws Vivian's gaze, and a smile of her own crosses her friend's face. "I'm glad you're okay…"

"I'm fine, Abby." Vivian waves her over with her good hand, though the effort seems to take a little out of her, "Our friend here's a sight better than most of our medics." Though her left arm's in a sling and her chest bandaged, Vivian still manages to give the Chinaman a good thump on the shoulder. "How about you, Abby? Nobody's been able to tell me how you got your wound."

"The same crazy bastard who attacked ya'." Stepping into the common room, Abigail shrugs as she runs a finger along her bandage, "It'll leave a scar, I'm bettin', but that's all. Don't worry, that bastard won't be hurtin' nobody now."

Joining the group of disaffected Vox, Abigail can't help but smile as a touch o warmth springs to life in her chest. This warmth was what she'd once felt among the Vox, and she'd sorely missed this feeling of camaraderie. They might be a group of misfits among the Vox Populi now, but Abigail couldn't care less; if disagreeing with the path the Vox have taken makes them misfits, she wouldn't have it any other way.

But even as she pushes her worries from her mind, a small part of Abigail still wonders at the strangely missing 'other' Lamb of Columbia. Another Elizabeth, who didn't even have a False Shepherd to set her free from her cage. So where is she?

"How much of this is in my head?" Staring quietly into the crackling fire, Abigail once more ponders the memories and the sentiments Booker left behind. It'd be easy to write the feelings off as belonging solely to Booker. But the more she thinks on what she'd seen and felt, the less Abigail finds such an excuse palatable; while the emotions left by Booker may not be genuinely hers, those that came later most likely aren't; the more Abigail learns about Elizabeth's story, the more she thinks she's got real feelings towards the girl.

"She never had a Booker… never had a friend. I'll…" Massaging her temples as she goes on staring into the fire, Abigail breathes a sigh as she comes to a decision, "I'll find her, if for nothin' else than ta' tell her the truth…" A smile touches her lips as she thinks back on the song she'd heard in the memories, Elizabeth's voice one of the few things clear from the memory of her other self's life.

* * *

**Author's Note: Well, a few have suggested I have Abigail meet Elizabeth, though I don't think this is quite what they had in mind. So, I think I should mention something; I'd intended for the majority of Abigail's story (pretty much everything from the first chapter up until she returned to the Factory) to be all of three chapters. Obviously, that didn't go as planned. Regardless, I hope you enjoyed Abigail's meeting with the elderly Elizabeth, and the question that has honestly been bugging me for a while now; where is the last reality's Elizabeth?**

**Thanks for reading, and hope you enjoyed.**


	7. The Other Songbird

December 2, 1912

"There it is…"

A grim smile tugs at the corner of Abigail's lips as the early morning mists part to reveal the pristine golden figure of Monument Tower. She stands on the prow of the cargo barge, the largest hovercraft of the five that left the factories before sunup and are bound for the angelic figure that stands at the heart of Columbia; the other four are gunships, flying close to and around her cargo barge, their crews alert for danger.

The Vox had received some information a few days ago that the Founders were up to something in Monument Tower, and the 'leader' of the Vox supposed they could be setting up a resupply depot to facilitate raids against the Vox Populi. Of course, Abigail doesn't think much of anything about Preston Downs, and she's fully prepared for this to be a waste of time. Even so, her squad was assigned to stopping whatever the Founders are up to; the arrogant blowhard hadn't taken too kindly to Abigail coming to be a leader of one of the factions within the Vox Populi.

"But that's how I got my nickname…" Abigail feels a grin tease at her lips; she'd started singing again, both the songs she'd been taught as a little girl and some of the music her other self had performed in Rapture. And she's gotten pretty good over a couple months, if she says so herself, enough so that Abigail worked up the nerve to try Elizabeth's song; she'd shied away from practicing with that song, both because it was Elizabeth's and that the song 'You Belong To Me' feels like it has some special meaning for Booker and Elizabeth.

But while giving it a less than successful try, she'd been found out. Word got around after that, much to her embarrassment, and it all came to a head as Downs tried to browbeat her; the obnoxious lout called her the 'Songbird of the Vox'. She'd grinned at that, and it's been her moniker ever since.

"Course, I coulda said no to this mission…" Turning away from the golden statue that's glittering in the light of sunrise, Abigail looks over their 'cargo'; crates of explosives, plenty dangerous but not enough to bring down Monument Tower. "Probably for the best… that's for Booker 'n Elizabeth ta' do…" The Siphon can't be destroyed yet, and she doubts she could manage it even if she wanted to.

Since her journey into the future to speak with the elderly Elizabeth, the Vox Populi's revolution against the Founders hasn't gone well; without Daisy's leadership, the Vox began to fragment once their blood settled and tempers cooled, different ideologies of all sorts causing friction and infighting. While the Vox Populi are still fighting their war, discontent is on the rise and more and more groups are starting to act on their own. "An' Downs' failure ta' hold Emporia didn't help matters."

The Vox Populi had been pushed out of downtown Emporia in mid-August, and the fighting still mostly occurs in and around that part of Columbia. And to make matters worse, a squad of Columbian soldiers started turning the Vox's old tactics against them around that time, conducting raids, hit-and-run attacks and stirring up trouble behind the Vox's lines. Their guerrilla tactics especially favored targeting food, weapons and ammo stores for theft or worse.

"What'd Downs' people call 'em? Ghosts… somethin' like that…?" Shaking her head, Abigail heaves a quiet sigh; the Vox haven't had any luck stopping the Founder squad, the revolutionaries far more accustomed to waging a guerrilla war than fighting against one. The Vox are starting to get spooked.

"Well, not all of us; my people are doin' alright…" Stepping back to the railing as the barge approaches a hangar bay cut into the left torso and beneath the arm of Monument Tower, Abigail draws and checks on her revolver again; when the Vox's bloodlust calmed, many of the more moderate members found they were horrified by their actions and with what's become of the Vox, though their numbers are still in the great minority. These soldiers eventually banded together, and without an established leader like all the other factions, Abigail found herself filling that role due to her position as a squad leader.

Of course, Downs hadn't been all that pleased by the group of comparative 'pacifists', what with the Vox Populi already on the verge of becoming completely divided, nor did he much care for the distinction that Abigail's only leader by default of the loosely knit group of moderates; at first he'd tried to publically ridicule her and the others, both with absurdities and the now all-too-familiar suspicions of disloyalty, but when that didn't work he tried to play the other factions against her. But Downs himself is the most hated by the various leaders, and Abigail's managed to keep the others from turning on her group.

"Alright! Let's get moving'!" Crying out as the barge approaches the rectangular opening in the gold painted statue, the entrance large enough to fit any hovercraft, Abigail brings up her Hand Cannon and kneels by the railing. The rest of her squad moves to either side of the barge as well, except for the pilot, and Abigail grins as her friend Vivian appears off to her left with Hand Cannon raised.

But as the first gunship flies into the docking bay, all Abigail hears is… silence. No shouts of alarm or screams, no light, rapid fire sound of machine guns or repeaters and no heavier report of shotguns or hand cannons. Just the wind whipping around the statue and the low drone of the barge's engines, "The hell's goin' on?"

It's not until Abigail's vessel flies into the bay does it make sense; the place is abandoned, and it looks like the Founders left in a hurry. Everything of value looks to have been stripped, barrels and empty weapon racks knocked over in the Founder's apparent haste to withdraw. But why? And how did they know..?

The hovercraft pulls up to a metal pier of sorts as Abigail looks around the bay; it's not especially large, really just a cut out portion of girders and metal ribs with a flat sheet of metal for a floor, maybe big enough to resupply two or three ships at a time.

"Ain't no point in my stickin' around." Now a smile teases at the redhead's lips, Abigail brushing a finger against the scar on the right of her face; it'll take the soldiers a good while to place all of the explosives. "Hey! I'm goin' topside ta' look around some!" Stepping from the railing to the helm of the cargo barge, the cabin's robot pilot still broken and the glass still shattered, Abigail taps her foot impatiently and works her ungloved left hand as the crates are taken from her craft. "Shovin' off!"

Pulling the barge out the bay, Abigail turns the sluggish beast to the starboard and climbs past the second pair of Vox gunships outside; she's been thinking about this ever since she'd heard about the planned assault on Monument Tower. Abigail brought something just for such an occasion.

Flying up to the top of the tower, Abigail grins as she spots the sloped walkway leading down along the side of the statue's face, just as her 'borrowed' memories said she'd find. Though this particular memory of Booker DeWitt's was of escaping the tower while Songbird attacked, Abigail's certain she can make do. And so she pulls her barge up alongside the statue and jumps onto the walkway, carrying a big, empty suitcase with her.

Carefully making her way down the walkway and through the exterior security door, Abigail finds her feet slowing the deeper she goes into the structure; it feels odd, setting foot inside the tower. Eventually, she finds herself at an elevator shaft, the door across the gap left open; seems they didn't care much about the place once they'd removed the Lamb of Columbia to Comstock House. A running leap, and Abigail finds she's staring into the former bedroom of Elizabeth.

"This was her… this Elizabeth's home." Stepping up to the glass and looking into the bedroom, Abigail slowly puts her hand on the cool one-way mirror of the observation room, "No, this wasn't a home… more like a cage." The bedroom is much the same as in Abigail's 'borrowed' memories; the music posters are still of 'God Only Knows' and the singer Yvette Guilmont with a phonograph nearby, but the blanket on Elizabeth's bed is of a slightly different pattern, and a violin sits beside the flute instead of a horn.

"Huh…" Slowly, Abigail steps from the glass and turns to the security door, grinning a little when she spies a bag of lockpicks through the window. But she can't see to her purpose on this side, and Abigail steps through the opening security door and deeper into the specimen observation area, ignoring the darkened 'specimen tracker' boards along the way. "She ain't here, no use lookin'…"

Her booted feet on the wooden platforms echo in the cavernous space within the statue, Abigail focusing on Booker's memories and following them like a map. That is, until she finds an opens security door leading into Elizabeth's cage.

"What… what in God's name happened in here?" Stepping from the cold, sterile observation area to the warm, lavish library of Elizabeth's apartment, Abigail nearly drops her suitcase in surprise; books and upturned furniture lie strewn about on the floor, the scene before her looking all the world like a fight had broken out here. "Looks like our missin' Elizabeth put up a fight…" A small grin creeps onto her face; Abigail had wondered if the missing Elizabeth had gone willingly or put up some resistance when Comstock or his men came for her. Now she knows; Abigail hasn't given up on finding this Elizabeth, and this sight gives her a little hope.

"Better look 'round first, before I start packin'…" Carefully stepping around the fallen books, Abigail pushes open a pair of wooden doors and steps through, a low whistle escaping her, "… a cage, huh? A gilded cage, ta' be sure…" Aside from the thin layer of dust on everything, Elizabeth's old apartment looks like it'd fit in well among the wealthiest homes in Emporia.

Exploring the former residence of the Lamb of Columbia, Abigail quickly looks over the bedroom and dressing room, noting a few articles she should claim before the explosives go off; while the explosives are meant to blow out the depot, Abigail just can't shake a vision of the Tower from Booker's memories. A vision where the angel statue stood ravaged, an arm and most of its torso gone, along with the head where Abigail stands. And she's hoping now is not when it happens, at least so that she can save a few more of the missing Elizabeth's personal effects for whenever Abigail finds her.

"Songbird did that the first time… huh?" Opening the last door she's yet to explore, Abigail blinks as she's momentarily dazzled; sunlight streams into this room, though how Abigail doesn't know, but the purpose is plain to see. Dry, dead plants fill this room, mostly flower plants that have withered away without Elizabeth to care for them. A conservatory, two rows of tables stretching from front to back with pots and planters atop them.

"Shame… couldn't have brought 'em with me, anyhow." Taking a slow first step into the conservatory, Abigail idly passes her gaze around the room as she moves between the tables of dead, withered plants. "Never would 'ave thought Elizabeth the gardenin' type…"

Finally, Abigail comes to a small, hip height shelf at the back of the room; trowels, watering cans, small bags of planting soil and packets of seeds rest on its wooden surface, Abigail touching the latter with her ungloved left hand.

"Wait… these are Columbian rose seeds… blue roses?" Blinking at the handful of seed packets bearing the image of a blue rose, Abigail vaguely recalls a memory of Booker's where Elizabeth put a rose in her hair. "Can't find these in New York… heh." She doesn't even bother with the suitcase, pocketing the rose seeds before turning her back on the shelf and the conservatory.

This time, Abigail does more than just peer into the rooms. Starting with the dressing, she carefully removes and folds a white sleeveless dress with a wide black ribbon around the torso and slips it into the suitcase, the young redhead glancing at some of the other dresses in the room with some regret; most of the suitcase will be filled with books, she doubts she can save too much else. "If anyone saw me, they'd think I'm lootin' or robbin' the Lamb…" A chuckle escapes Abigail, the young Vox leaving the dressing room behind and heading for the bedroom, but not before snagging a postcard of Paris on the way out.

Stepping into the first room she'd laid eyes on, Abigail immediately makes for the instruments, laying the suitcase down on the floor and quickly resting the flute and violin atop the folded dress, "Guess that's everythin'… c'mon, there's gotta be somethin' else she'd like saved… like a teddy bear?"

That's the moment Abigail spies the phonograph again. "That's it! Bet the girl had some records…" A short search later, and Abigail's found three vinyl records; one from the singer whose poster adorns the wall, another she'd never heard of nor cares to pronounce, and finally one simply labelled 'Will The Circle Be Unbroken.' That one dashes the smile from Abigail's face, the young redhead all too familiar with the song.

"C'mon, no time ta'-whoa! Hey, what's the big idea?" Scolding herself as she leaves the bedroom with instruments and records secure in her suitcase, Abigail nearly tumbles over when the floor beneath her feet lurches, the distant sound of an explosion filling the empty apartment, "It ain't time yet!" But Monument Tower doesn't plummet out of the sky, no additional explosions going off. Yet.

"Dammit all to hell…" Cursing as she dashes for the library, Abigail lays the suitcase on the floor and starts filling the second half with as many of the books she can; books on the sciences, stories of fiction and nonfiction, even literature on medicine all go into the suitcase before she slams the lid shut and runs for the exit. Unsurprisingly, the suitcase weighs her down far more than on the way in.

Running as fast as she's able, Abigail grits her teeth as another detonation makes the floor shudder beneath her feet, "Son of a… the hell's goin' on down there?" By the time she reaches the open, empty elevator shaft, Abigail's breathing hard and fast, the weight on the suitcase, the urgency of her situation and her running tiring the young redhead out. Still, she manages to heave the suitcase across the gap and onto a wooden platform on the other side, though her shout of frustration as it lands on the level below echoes in the shaft.

"Whoever's gone off half-cocked's gonna get my boot up their ass!" Grumbling as she leaps across the gap and retrieves her suitcase, Abigail hurries up the ramp and towards the exit, "Hope nothin' broke…"

A deafening screech fills the air around Abigail as she steps outside, wind whipping about and clouds obscuring her vision. Her right hand clenched around the handle of her suitcase and her left griping the chain railing along the walkway, Abigail fights her way up the sloped path, praying that she makes it back to her barge before another explosion throws her off Monument Tower.

Climbing one foot after the other, Abigail hauls herself and what little of Elizabeth's belongings she could save back up to her cargo barge, the vessel hovering only about a foot from the edge. "Alright… here goes! One, two… three!"

The suitcase leaves her hands and lands with a 'thud' on the barge's deck, but a sudden gust of wind knocks Abigail away from the edge. And the moment she recovers, the young Vox freezes as she makes out the source of the gust; glowing eyes, powerful mechanical body, great wings and clawed hands. Songbird, the beast flying past without paying her any mind.

"Maybe he knows where she is…" Abigail has to grit her teeth at the thought; her namesake should be the missing Elizabeth's protector, but she's still missing while Comstock and his scientists torture Booker's Elizabeth.

"Better get some answers today, or me an' the Luteces are gonna have a talk…" Returning to the barge and flying back down to the hangar below, Abigail keeps an eye on Songbird; the flying bird creature doesn't seem to have anywhere to go, simply flying about and frequently passing the golden, pristine Tower. "Maybe he's lookin' for her? He doesn't know what ta' do with himself…"

The thought sours whatever feeling of accomplishment Abigail felt over salvaging what she could of Elizabeth's belongings, the barge flying in silence as it approaches the hangar bay. But what greets her when she arrives can only draw a sigh from Abigail.

Several injured Vox lie on a docked gunship, parts of the bay burning and twisted by an explosion of some sort. The Vox's own explosives look partly set, but none are detonated as of yet. "What happened in here?"

"Abby! The Founders set traps before they abandoned the place!" Turning to the sound of the voice as she pulls up to a pier, Abigail heaves a relieved sigh as Vivian runs over to her, alive and well. "The others are panicking; what should we do?"

"I…" Glancing around, Abigail focuses on the crates of explosives they'd brought, any hesitation she might've experienced being pushed aside by the need to survive, "I say we prime the explosives now an' get the hell out. Let's get ta' work!"

It takes all of ten minutes to get the explosives primed and the panicking Vox to retreat. But as Abigail's backing her floating barge out of the bay, she can't help but have a bad feeling about this. And it doesn't take long for her feeling to be justified.

More explosions rip through the bay as the barge's pulling away, collapsing the hangar and dropping a burning support beam on top of the crate of explosive. And while Abigail's no demolitions expert, even she knows that fire and gunpowder don't mix safely. "Hold on!" Swinging the prow of the barge away from the hangar, Abigail pushes the engines as hard as she can.

Next thing she knows, her barge's pitched forward and everyone on board's clinging to whatever they can for dear life. It takes a second for the deafening sound of the explosion to register at all, a cloud of flame licking at the stern of the ship and all around the pilot's cabin. The flash of heat manages to shake Abigail from her state of shock. "Hold on! Hold on, everybody!"

The craft levels itself out after a couple harrowing seconds, and only once the barge's steady does Abigail loosen her death grip on the controls and releases the breath she's been holding. "Hell's bells… let's not do that ag-agh!"

A groan of metal giving way sounds from behind as she mutters, followed by a pained, angry shriek that makes Abigail's red hair stand on end; Songbird swoops past and heads for the Tower, a clawed foot crushing a nearby gunship as he goes. But the attack seems merely an accident as Songbird ignores the rest of them; Abigail runs out of the cabin and leans over the side, her green eyes going wide in horror.

The explosion did more than just blow out the hangar, a gouge appearing from just beneath the angel's left arm all the way up to her right collarbone. The entire torso above the gash begins to crumble and slide off the statue, the head, and Elizabeth's old home and cage, topples from the angel's golden neck.

And Songbird's trying to stop the collapse, grabbing part of the falling upper torso and holding it to the rest. But for all his strength, Songbird's efforts are in vain; the metal of the tower just falls apart, leaving a couple beams and scrap metal in Songbird's hand and holes where his claws dug into the still intact part of the statue.

"He wanted ta' save her home…?" Stepping away from the edge as the cargo barge flies away and Songbird's screeches fade into the distance, Abigail slowly steps back into the cabin and drops onto the wooden floor. "Heh…" a quiet chuckle escapes her, Abigail grinning for a moment despite seeing what she knew was to happen come to pass before her very eyes, "guess we both wanted ta' save her old home…" But the smile fades and Abigail grits her teeth, the young redhead pulling her knees up to her chest and whispering an apology, both to Songbird and the missing Elizabeth.

* * *

"Vivian, how's the supplies look?"

"Everything's in good condition, even the milk." Vivian Monroe nods as she closes up the last crate of supplies, the wooden box one of many lashed to the deck as she and Abigail fly through the night.

"Good… doubt they'd be glad to see us with spoiled food…" It's been about an hour since sunset and nine since the explosion that destroyed part of Monument Tower. Turns out, the whole thing had been a trap, probably orchestrated by the 'Ghost' squad, but Downs hadn't cared much; according to him, the 'effect on the Founders' morale more than outweighs the Vox's losses', something that had made Abigail's blood boil for a variety of reasons. Being partly responsible for the destruction of Elizabeth's home didn't sit well with Abigail.

Now, she and Vivian are out on an altogether different mission, unknown to most of the Vox and with only one other from their squad along to help; the young Irish boy this time around. But he's on guard duty for when they get to their destination, which means no talking. Hell, Vivian's taken off all Vox red from her uniform and now looks like a card-carrying member of the Columbian military.

"There it is, New Eden Square. Viv, get on the spotlight an' give 'em the signal."

"Sure."

Below, the Square's dark and completely devoid of activity, the buildings looking a little run down and abandoned with a thin layer of snow covering them and the streets. But Abigail and her squad members know differently; a spotlight flashes back at them, and she slowly brings the barge down to street level.

"Produce an' milk from our people in Arboria, blankets from Vox stores… it is winter, after all." Muttering as she pulls up beside the Square, Abigail grins as half a dozen figures emerge from the buildings. Refugees, abandoned by the Founders and hated by the Vox, and while they're still suspicious of Abigail and her people, at least they're usually grateful for the supplies.

"Here ya' go." Stepping from the cabin and up to the boarding plank the refugees lowered onto her barge, Abigail nods as she makes out a pair of Columbian police officers among them, looking a little worse for wear, "Your twice monthly supplies, hope it helps."

"Thanks… miss."

"You're welcome." Stepping down the boarding plank quickly, Abigail chuckles quietly; the tension between the Vox and the police in the past made most officers here even less happy to see her than the other refugees, and having to accept her group's aid makes them even less happy. "Where's Esther? She and I need ta' chat."

"Lieutenant Mailer's in the church."

"Alright…" The mention draws a grimace from Abigail as she and Vivian leave the unloading to the coppers and refugees, more figures appearing from the shadows; the Church of Comstock still stands tall, relatively unblemished by the war and permanently docked now with New Eden Square. It offends her just seeing the Comstock statue in the Square, going into the Church simply makes her skin crawl.

But the sea of faces that greet her when she steps inside doesn't help her mood much; most are just normal refugees, momentarily startled by her appearance and worrisome. There are a few friendlier faces, however; a particular little girl starts smiling a moment later. "Mary!"

"Abby!" The little girl slips through the crowd quick as a sparrow before running into Abigail and hugging her. "You're back!"

"That I am! How's your mother and brother?"

"They're doing just fine!" The little girl beams up at Abigail, drawing a chuckle from the redhead.

"That's good, Mary. But I need ta' speak with someone. We can talk later, love."

"Aww… alright…"

"How 'bout you stay with Viv? Remember my friend?" With that, Abigail slips away as Mary and many others turn towards Vivian, the tension of their arrival noticeably easing thanks to the little girl. Mary and her family aren't the only ones here who'd been saved by Abigail and her people, and they tend to be much friendlier than the rest of the refugees.

"Hello, Abigail."

The redhead's just turned a corner and tossed her braid over her shoulder when she finds her contact; Esther Mailer, the ranking member of the Columbian Police here and de facto leader because of it, and one of the few that Abigail's developed some sort of relationship with, if only a cordial one. "Good ta' see you're still doin' well, Esther." Pulling a chair from the table Esther sits at, Abigail takes a seat across from the police lieutenant.

"And to you, as well. I take it you came for the same reason?"

"I did."

"Well then, Abigail, you're in luck. I may have found someone who can help you." Rising quickly from her seat, Esther gestures for Abigail to follow, "Come."

"Okay then…" Following with a nod, Abigail nevertheless heaves a quiet sigh; though she's still armed, she's glad she left her sword in her quarters today, the suitcase from earlier now resting beside it. The weapon always seems to intimidate the refugees.

Approaching the back of the Church, Abigail spots a woman sitting alone on the grass beneath the three statues of the Founding Fathers. "That's her." Stopping just out of earshot, Esther glances back at Abigail, "She was brought here by one of your patrols, so she may cooperate. She used to be a nurse in the asylum in Comstock House." That gets Abigail's attention.

Stepping slowly towards the woman, Abigail raises her hands peacefully when the nurse notices her and shies away, "Easy now… my name's Abigail. Esther tells me you used to work in Comstock House. Is that right?"

"Y-yes, Miss Abigail."

"Please, just Abigail." She smiles; 'Miss' and other honorifics are starting to become a more frequent occurrence, "I'm lookin' for someone who might be in a… isolated or closed off part of the asylum. Do ya' know of any such place?"

"I… I do." The woman nods hesitantly, as if she's unsure she should continue. But she does, "Near the back of the asylum, there's a small wing that was closed off in July… the Prophet started visiting that wing at the same time. Then… then your… the Vox uprising began."

"The Prophet… that's gotta be it…" Thinking to herself, Abigail nods again, still smiling, "Thank ya', miss. Do ya' know of a way in?"

"It's… heavily guarded. But…"

"But?"

"Well, work crews started coming and going from that section… there's talk that an elevator was installed very quickly at the Prophet's orders. After they were done, we never saw the Prophet entering that section anymore…"

"An elevator into a closed off section of the asylum…" Abigail's grin widens as she stands, thanking the woman even as she makes to leave, "That's gotta be where she's bein' kept. I'll be seein' ya' real soon, Elizabeth."

* * *

**Author's Note: It's been a while, but we're back to Abigail's story again. Like I've said before, I always wondered where the final universe's Elizabeth disappeared to, and the fact that Infinite overlooked it never sat well with me. And in a similar vein, I also wondered how Monument Tower got as damaged as it was before Booker and Elizabeth destroyed it; Songbird only damaged it in the first universe. With Abigail going to Monument Tower, I couldn't see a reason why she wouldn't check out Elizabeth's old home. And for the record, this chapter takes place shortly before the end of Infinite and roughly a month and a half before the Splicers appeared in I'm Home.**

**There'll be at least a few more chapters in this particular line of Change of Heart, and as usual, I'll be making fixes as I go. Thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoyed the chapter. Now, with the mention of the missing Elizabeth's possible location, what do you think happened to her?**


	8. Light In The Dark

December 23, 1912

"It's time…"

Abigail smiles as she marches through the factory, heading for where her squad's cargo barge is docked. Everything's just as the memories of Booker's had shown her; the sky is filled with dark clouds; Comstock's airship, the Hand of the Prophet, is docked about Comstock House; and the Vox Populi under Preston Downs are preparing to launch an all-out assault on Comstock and the Founders.

Ever since Abigail learned of the restricted wing in the asylum of Comstock House, she's been looking for a way in there and planning accordingly. But no matter how much she'd planned and how much she'd tried to dig up any more information on the place, Abigail just couldn't see an infiltration of Comstock House succeeding.

"But it's another story now, ain't it?" Chuckling as she rounds a corner and the barge comes into view, Abigail shifts the weight on her shoulder before picking up her pace; today is the day Booker should be returning from the future, and by the time he and Elizabeth will have escaped Comstock House, the Founder forces there should be in shambles. And her squad's been ready for this for weeks now.

Stepping out onto the loading dock, Abigail grins as her squad mates call out greetings; they've all grown stronger and closer since the squad came together in July. "Even me…" Abigail chuckles as she steps to the edge of the dock; she'd gotten pretty good with the sword she now wears slung across her back. She still wears her uniform as it had been after that fateful day in July; her left hand ungloved, the strip of red canvas wrapped several times around her arm, and the mask and headgear is long gone. Running her bare fingers through her long, loose red hair as she takes a breath to steady herself, Abigail steps onto the swaying barge with a grin on her lips, "Alright, let's get goin'-"

"Now just hold up there, little lady!"

"Ah, hell…" Turning back towards the direction of the voice, Abigail's already grimacing before she even lays eyes on the man who'd shouted after her, "What do ya' want, Downs?"

"Sound like little miss Songbird here's getting a mite peckish!" Stepping out onto the loading dock with four of his men flanking him, Preston E. Downs marches towards Abigail and her squad, the bright red streak of paint across his blue uniform standing out in the gloomy evening, "I've been getting my boys ready to storm Comstock House and scalp that bastard Prophet, and what do I hear? Your little band of lily-livered cowards ain't fixing to help! Now why is that, huh?"

"We ain't helpin' ya', Downs, 'cause it's a damn fool idea. Killin' the Prophet might hurt the Founders, but it won't stop 'em. An' if you're goin' after the Lamb, you'll have a different sort of Songbird ta' deal with."

Abigail glares back at Downs as the rest of her squad turns towards the one-time big game hunter; she's not about to throw any of her comrades against Booker and Elizabeth, and she isn't going to send her people on a suicide mission, either.

"You think I won't take offense to your tone, little lady? Huh?"

"Yeah?" Abigail's hand is on the grip of her Hand Cannon in a second, the young redhead flexing her ungloved left hand should she suddenly have pressing need of a Vigor. And from the corner of her eyes, Abigail can tell the rest of her squad's in a similar state of readiness. "I don't think ya' thought this one through, Downs, unless you're hidin' a Handyman around here."

Both Abigail and Downs fall silent, the man glowering up at her while his men fidget; for all his bluster and bravado, Downs has never been on the front lines, and neither have his bodyguards. On the other hand, Abigail and her squad see combat on a regular basis, against both the Founders and occasionally a Vox squad, for one reason or the other. And as the silence stretches on to a full minute, Downs backs down and turns back to the factory.

"Alright… c'mon, let's get goin'! Gotta make up the time we lost!"

With that, the barge pulls away from the factory, Vivian at the helm while Abigail briefs the rest of the squad. The plan is fairly simple, and Vivian already knows the details.

"Once the Hand of the Prophet takes off an' flies away from Comstock House, we're gonna fly up our selves ta' the upper levels an' break in." Explaining to her squad as the barge dips down into cloud cover, Abigail shivers at the sudden cold mist surrounding her. "An'… an' we're lookin' for an elevator in Comstock's quarters, somewhere near 'nough that he can get ta' easy. And as usual, don't hurt anybody unless they're pointin' a gun at ya'. Hear me?"

Her squad mates murmur in assent, and Abigail grins; these people had been there from the start, and she really doesn't need to say that last part. While none of them are bleeding hearts, they all disagreed with the direction the Vox had been going. "Good. We're stayin' outta sight, so it'll be a while till we get to Comstock House."

The squad members disperse after that, killing time in whatever way each of them prefers. Left to her own devices, Abigail wanders over to the front of the barge's cabin and takes a seat, her back to the wall.

"Abby, don't worry; this'll work."

"Thanks, Viv." Smiling as she looks up to find her friend peeking out the still broken window, Abigail heaves a deep, weary sigh; Vivian became second in command of the squad, her time in the Columbian military helping them all out more than once. Aside from her own Hand Cannon, Vivian also packs a nasty surprise for anyone who wishes them ill; she'd been the first of the squad aside from Abigail to imbibe a Vigor, and now the brunette can launch any unfortunate fool who gets to close into the air thanks to Bucking Bronco, especially useful when she needs to stop an advance.

Turning her gaze to the next nearest of her squad mates, Abigail grins as she peers at a young, dark-skinned girl; Mattie came to Columbia with her family from Georgia, she just old enough at the time to be deemed acceptable by Fink. Now, she wears a bandana over her short, black hair and an eye patch over her left eye; nobody's quite sure why she wears it, both because the girl's a quiet one and her eye's fine so far as they can tell. But she's also a crack shot with her Bird's Eye rifle, and she'd found an Undertow Vigor to further keep people at a distance.

Next is their Chinaman medic, Wei; he'd made damn sure all of them knew his name is spelled 'Wei' rather than 'Way'. He's an educated young man with dark hair, a little older than Abigail, but he's more comfortable with a first aid kit than a weapon; he carries a Broadsider but rarely uses it.

"And he butts heads a lot with our next man..." Turning her gaze to the prow, Abigail stares at the back of the older man standing there; though he'd given them his name, nobody could pronounce it right, so they'd settled on using his initials, "Yu… guess it's better than when we thought it was Uy." The man had been a soldier in the Imperial Japanese Army, and he carries a sword on his belt; he'd been the one to teach Abigail how to use her own sword, though the weapons are very different beasts. Once he'd warmed up to the rest of them, of course. The man prefers his sword in combat, and once he got his hands on a Charge Vigor, 'Yu' only brought his Burstgun on especially dangerous missions like this one.

"And finally we have Sean…" Abigail shakes her head; the boy's actually a little younger than she is, and his disheveled mop of brown hair makes him look even younger. He even looks a little too thin to be a soldier, but the boy's a decent scout and isn't too bad with a Repeater. Then they learned of his affinity for disarming explosives, and in a fit of irony, he'd showed them a flaming ball of Devil's Kiss that same day. "Wait… hey, Sean! What're ya' readin'?"

"Huh? Oh, this?" The young Irish boy holds up a red book of some sorts, "I found it up in Worker's Induction… won't believe it, but this' supposed ta' be Lady Comstock's diary!"

That draws a murmur for the others, and Abigail climbs to her feet, "Anythin' interesting 'in there?" Not that Abigail really needs to ask.

"Nothin' yet. Just a lot of lady talk…"

"Sean, it ain't polite ta' snoop in a lady's diary, 'specially a dead one." Coming to a stop beside Sean, Abigail snatches the book away, "Maybe I'll give it back to ya' when you're older." And she silently adds, "Might be good ta' hold on ta' this for later…"

"Aww… alright, Abigail…"

"Last thing I need is more questions…" Muttering to herself as she returns to sit against the cabin and tuck the journal into her uniform, Abigail heaves a quiet sigh; it's been a rough month, ever since Monument Island.

Shortly after his so-called 'victory' at Monument Tower, Downs began to move against his rivals, sending squads to eliminate the other faction leaders. While he'd struck at most of them at the same time in the hopes that the remainder would fall in line, he'd made a mistake; several of the leaders survived and struck back, and the factions who lost their leaders split up and joined the others. And Abigail stayed out of it, her group seen as the 'weakest', and a lot of the dispossessed Vox found that joining her people seemed to be the safest option.

"Downs has the biggest chunk of the Vox Populi, but he needs a win… like takin' out Comstock." Groaning, Abigail shakes her head; it's going to be a civil war should Downs go after her people, the 'peaceful' faction she leads having swelled in numbers till they were nearly as large as Downs' army. And with the half dozen remaining factions biding their time, who knows how this powder keg will go off.

"We're here."

"Alright…" Blinking in surprise at the sound of Vivian's voice, Abigail looks up through the clouds they hide in to see the underside of Comstock House; the trip here was supposed to take half an hour, she must've gotten lost in thought. "Hey… isn't that…?"

"Comstock's flagship." 'Yu' answers, his thick accent identifying him as the speaker.

"It's taking off…" Mattie's quiet voice follows, the girl unslinging her Bird's Eye slowly.

"Then it's time ta' go." Nodding, Abigail turns to Vivian after a moment, "Take us up, nice an' slow."

"Aye, Abby." A smile tugs at Vivian's lips as she pulls on one of the controls.

As they rise, things go about as smoothly as Abigail had figured; no gunships come screaming out of nowhere to intercept them, and no alarms start blaring as they approach their target. Only the impassive faces of the three Founding Fathers greet them, and Vivian quickly streets the barge towards the back of Comstock House.

"Look!"

"Huh? What is it, Wei?" Young Sean brushes his hair from his eyes as Wei points, and Abigail looks in the direction he's indicating.

"Oh no…" What she spies draws a grimace across the young Vox's features, though she knew it was coming. A gunship just took off from Comstock House and is in pursuit of the Hand of the Prophet, the small hovercraft being chased by both Founder and Vox gunships alike. The distinctive hoot the Vox gunships make are especially unnerving.

"Must be the False Shepherd and the Lamb up there." 'Yu' mutters, and everyone aside from Abigail and Vivian nod in agreement; there's still hard feeling on the rest of her squad's part over Daisy's death, and Abigail only managed to explain what had happened to Vivian. But the gunship disappears into the clouds, and Abigail and her squad's ascent goes unchallenged. Even when they pull up to a window at the uppermost level of Comstock House there isn't so much as an alarm, 'Yu' and Sean shooting it out.

"Fan out an' look for that elevator. It might be hidden, so keep a sharp eye out!" Barking orders once the squad's jumped through the window, Abigail draws her Hand Cannon and peers around the room they find themselves in, "Sean, you want ta' stay on lookout up there?"

"Alright, Abigail." Sean's voice comes from the barge still, the boy usually the last to jump, "Guess I'm still up here anyway…"

"Thanks a lot, kid." Chuckling as she turns away from the floor to ceiling window, Abigail focuses on the task at hand.

The squad looks to be in a study of some sort, shelves of books lining the walls and a roaring fireplace stands at the back of the room. An ornate, solid desk sits between the squad and the door, and a golden statue of Comstock stands in the corner nearby. The place is decadently lavish, much like the homes in Emporia but even more so. It looks even fancier than Fink's was, and that's saying something. "C'mon, let's move…" Forcing her attention from her surroundings, Abigail makes for the only door out of this place and leaves the shattered window and cargo barge behind.

Spreading out through the home of Zachary H. Comstock, Abigail and her squad search every room they come across; dining room, bedroom, bathrooms, den, prayer room, the study they were first in and even a closet by a gold-trimmed elevator. This isn't what she's looking for; this elevator goes down to many floors but not all the way down to the asylum, and Abigail doubts the Prophet would've had an elevator installed in secret and a hurry to allow anyone else access.

"Abigail… can you come here for a moment?"

"Viv? What is it?" But Vivian just disappears back into the bedroom, Abigail following a moment later, "What?"

"Look at this." Waving her over, Abigail's friend kneels by a large armoire before motioning for her to do the same, Vivian points at something on the floor, "That doesn't look like it belongs, huh?"

"Huh…" Focusing on the spot Vivian's pointing to, Abigail raises an eyebrow in mild surprise; there's a pair of long, old scratches in the polished wooden floor, leading up to the legs of the armoire. "I thought we checked this one already?"

"We did, there's nothing inside but clothes…" Nodding, Vivian stands and stretches her back before looking back to Abigail.

"Okay…" Breathing a sigh, Abigail gives the scratches one more look; they look covered in an ever so thin layer of dust, the armoire probably having not been moved anytime recently. "Let's get this thing out of the way… 'Yu'! Come over here an' help!"

A couple minutes later and the armoire is pushed aside, and in the wall the piece of furniture had been hiding stands an elevator for all to see. It looks to be made like all the other elevators in Columbia, and the doors slide open the moment Abigail pushes the button.

"Good…" Stepping inside, Abigail finds there's only a single button, unlike the other elevator in the Prophet's home. Holstering her weapon, Abigail turns to her squad mates with a smile, "Keep this place secure; I'm goin' down alone. Only come down if there's an emergency." She hits the button the moment she's finished and despite the protests of her squad mates, the doors closing quickly and much to her relief, "Sorry friends… but this is somethin' I have ta' do on my own." All of her squad mates know that she's searching for someone, but she has yet to tell any of them who, even Vivian; how can she explain she's looking for another Lamb?

"I'd sound like a lunatic, that's how it'd go." Resting against the decorated wall, Abigail lets her mind wander as the burgundy wood and metal elevator car slowly descends. She'd turned nineteen only a couple days ago, though she'd gladly let the event pass without any mention; Abigail had been too intent on today to care much. Yet, she's the 'by default' leader of a faction within an otherwise violent group of revolutionaries, and now she's breaking into one of the most heavily guarded places in all of Columbia.

"Sounds ridiculous, too…" Bringing a hand up, Abigail brushes the back of her hand against the scar running down the right side of her face; the scar helps to make her look older than she is, a boon when dealing with the others in the Vox Populi . She'd gotten this far on resolve and no small amount of advice from her friends and the Luteces, the peculiar twins visiting her on occasion, but she's still learning as she goes.

"I wonder what my life woulda been like if my Da an' Ma never came ta' Columbia…" That brings a grin to her lips, but Abigail doesn't have time to contemplate anymore; the elevator doors open to reveal a dark, gloomy hallway, the place barely lit enough to see clearly.

Stepping out into the murky darkness, Abigail draws her Hand Cannon again as she peers around the hallway; there are well over a dozen doors lining both sides of the restricted wing of the asylum, all of them looking like the security doors in Monument Tower, but with small, eye level windows built into them and a wide, shuttered slot near the bottom.

But what catches her eye the most is a door off to the left of the elevator, at the far end of the hallway. While still a secure door made of dark steel, the small rectangular window of the others is replaced by a large round one, and the frame is decorated by the same sort of wood as in the elevator and a pair of Columbian angel statues standing on either side. Light streams from the window, brightening the gloom at the hallway's end.

"That's gotta be it…" Advancing slowly, careful so as not to make any noise, Abigail follows the wall the elevator's built into while keeping her weapon raised last thing she needs right now is to be jumped by guards, soldiers or whatever inmates are kept in this place. But as she goes, something from the corner of her eye stops her dead in her tracks.

Through the glass in the asylum door Abigail sees a mass of dark… something, sitting in the middle of the empty room. But it doesn't take long for the young redhead to realize what dark mass is; feathers, raven black and covering someone like a blanket. And that someone starts to move.

"Oh… oh hell…" She can't get the words out, the thing on the other side of the door from her standing slowly and turning to stare back at her; it used to be a man, but his body has patches of black feathers growing of him. The rest of the black feather 'blanket' falls to the ground in clumps, probably having been shed from the creature's body and used like a nest. His nails are long black hooks that Abigail's all too familiar with, and his eyes are that of a crows; brown surrounding a black bead in the center. As she watches it in horror, the monster opens its mouth and lets loose a piercing, wailing caw.

Abigail falls away in a panic as black crows slam into the door, the cawing, clawing birds seeming to come from nowhere. "Hell's bells! What… what was that?!" The thought of that birdman sends a shudder down Abigail's spine, and just as she's horrified by the creature's appearance, she's equally sure she knows what it is. "A Murder of Crows test subject…?"

Pushing herself up and away from the door and the cawing, screaming thing within, Abigail hurries down the hallway even as she fights to keep a feeling of nausea from overwhelming her. But the nausea is soon accompanied by a growing sense of dread as her mind starts to turn from the horrific thing she just saw to the rest of her surroundings; each of these doors must hold another creature like the birdman, more mutated test subjects. Just like the Splicers her other self had only heard tell of.

"Why would they keep her down here…?" A grimace touches her features as she turns her attention back down the hallway, "Why would Comstock an' his scientists keep Elizabeth down here… with these things?" Running now, Abigail keeps to the center of the hallway, wanting nothing to do with any of the horrors that might be behind these doors. The young woman still has to fight to keep the nausea and her lunch down, the sense of dread spurring her on. The seconds feel like ages until her foot kicks something on the floor.

"Huh? What's this… a voxophone?" The voice recorder skids a little away from her foot as Abigail comes to a stop, the young redhead staring at the voxophone for a moment. Reaching for the recorder hesitantly, Abigail picks up the voxophone and starts slowly down the hallway again as she hits the play button.

The voxophone comes to life, a voice filling the dark asylum wing. "Dr. Pettifog, July 7, 1912. We've received the specimen and have begun treating her in the manner we've prepared in the eventuality that she should prove uncooperative. But in the past 36 hours that we've had her, the specimen has proven to be far more resilient than we estimated; though we continue to use the Siphon and administer electric shocks whenever she tries to alter the state of things, the specimen seems to be testing how far we will go and how much she can take. She's managed to dislodge several of the electrodes in her latest attempt, and we were forced to sedate her. I fear it is becoming inevitable that something drastic may occur, and the only question may be on whose part will it be; ours, or the Lamb's?"

Dropping the voxophone as it finishes playing, Abigail's mood darkens, the redhead frowning as the mention of the missing Elizabeth's 'conditioning' reminds her of the six months of hell Booker's Elizabeth suffered through. "Bastard! Soundin' so… so calm when he's talkin' about torturin' the girl…" Kicking the voxophone so it slides down the hallway, Abigail lets out a low, angry growl. But there's little she can do, Elizabeth having already made her escape with Booker's help, and the voxophone still doesn't shed light on what truly happened to the missing Elizabeth.

"Elizabeth…?" Stepping up to the door and between the angel statues flanking it, Abigail rests her ungloved hand on the cool metal doorframe and takes a deep breath; she's nervous now, the dread, nausea and anger from before taking a backseat as her nerves start acting up. It takes her a second to work up the courage to peer into the glass viewport.

Peering through the circular glass window, Abigail blinks as her eyes adjust to the light; while the rest of the closed off wing is suffused with shadows and murky darkness, the place beyond this decorated security door is anything but. Warm, soft light fills the room, and Abigail can only stare once her eyes have adjusted to the light enough to see.

Beyond the door lies a room that looks like it'd been spirited away from the lavish home of the Prophet and cast down into this pit of an asylum. The walls are paneled in rich brown wood, upon which paintings of landscapes and still lifes hang; there's even a painting of the Eiffel Tower hanging between two depictions of a sunset in Columbia.

The floors are carpeted wall to wall, a deep shade of green and looking both soft and comfortable. For a moment, Abigail fancies it looks like a field of grass, but she quickly shakes the thought from her head.

The room itself stretches past the bounds of the window to the left, and Abigail spies a chair and phonograph sitting in the back right corner across from her place at the door. But it looks unused, the phonograph and a small stack of records bearing a layer of dust visible even from where Abigail stands.

While the lavish but slightly unused looking room has much for her to focus on, it's what she notices at the very edge of the viewport that causes Abigail's breath to catch in her throat; the footboard of a bed stands there, carved of dark wood with a pair of columns rising from the ends. The columns support another piece of dark wood overhead, a cover that stretches past Abigail's field of view.

"Is it…?" But even as she tries to angle herself to peer deeper into the room, Abigail hears a metallic 'click' from behind her, and the hairs on the back of her neck begin to stand on end.

Whirling about, Abigail grits her teeth as she peers back into the darkness; she can't make out the person standing in the hallway, she can only see the barrel of the gun pointed at her as she brings up her Hand Cannon and left hand. And the barrel suddenly flashes, illuminating the hand and face of the wielder for the briefest of moments.

* * *

**Author's Note: Well, here we are. Abigail's in the depths of Comstock House while Booker and Elizabeth are off facing Comstock on his airship. Is this world's missing Elizabeth on the other side of that door, and why is she there? Well, I'll leave that to your imagination for now. And sorry for the delay, my work schedule this week hasn't been the best.**

**Now, about the test subject in the asylum cell; between the whole 10x ADAM and mention of Fink**** working out the kinks, I figured the result would be much like a Splicer, like the Frosty Splicer in BaS. **

**I'll be cleaning up the chapter and looking for problems later, as usual. Thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoyed the chapter. I'm also not quite pleased with the title, and may change it.**


	9. The Ghost And The Cage

Time seems to move in slow motion as Abigail's mind registers what's happening and realizes the situation she's in, the muzzle flash of the weapon firing at her expanding slowly and steadily. The flash lights up her attacker's face in some small measure, but Abigail's more interested in what looks to be her impending doom, in the form of a bullet.

"Damn, no time ta' dodge!" Abigail's mind races in the split second before the bullet would slam into her, the young redhead having to make do with what she has even though she's half-blinded from looking from light to dark; her Hand Cannon's up and aimed roughly in the shooter's direction, and her left hand's raised though there is no Vigor at her fingertips yet. "Do I have enough time?"

The answer comes a heartbeat later, time resuming its normal flow as Abigail splays her fingers wide and a shimmering field of blue appears before the redhead. Her relief is almost palpable as an odd 'plink' sounds, the deadly round striking the shimmering blue shield and bouncing off harmlessly. It's not until half a second later that Abigail can breathe again, the young Vox suddenly grateful for her new Vigor.

"Return to Sender?" Looking up as a woman's voice comes from the shooter in the dark, Abigail has to wonder why her attacker stopped shooting, "I'll never get used to the odd names you people use for your Plasmids."

Gunfire erupts again, but Abigail's already moving even as the woman fires a couple shots at her at a time, the shield keeping the stray few that she fails to dodge from harming her. And Abigail fires back even though she hasn't the time to line up her shot; her opponent's moving too, though she's not scrambling about the corridor like Abigail is. The young woman is starting to get a bad feeling as she realizes what word the other woman used. "Wait, Plasmid?"

The distant sound of a clip falling from a weapon sounds, Abigail taking the brief opportunity to peer back at her opponent. And the young redhead feels a grimace coming on as her suspicions are confirmed, "I remember ya'."

Now that Abigail's away from the decorated security door and the light streaming into the gloomy corridor from it, her eyes have adjusted quickly to the dark, enough to make out just who her opponent is; though she no longer wears the long beige coat and dark glasses from their last encounter, the woman's long, raven black hair is a dead giveaway. The woman who'd thrown her to the ground in Emporia with ease, the streaks of silver trailing after her impossibly fast moves burned into Abigail's memory.

She wears the blue uniform of the Columbian military, essentially no different than Abigail's own appropriated outfit, and a strange white patch on her shoulder catches the Vox's eye; she can't make it out in the gloom and at this distance, though. Her opponent also carries a Broadsider pistol, the small caliber weapon not normally something Abigail would worry about, but this is anything but a normal encounter.

And the amused, condescending look the raven-haired woman wears as she looks back at Abigail makes the redhead want to grind her teeth. But she also knows that she may be in a great deal of trouble.

"She coulda put a bullet in me by now if she used that silver flash thing she does…" Abigail grimaces again at the thought; she remembers all too well the speed at which the woman moved during their last encounter, and that's probably not even the worst of it. Knowing what she does of the place this mystery woman came from, Abigail wouldn't at all be surprised if her opponent had several nasty surprises in store.

"Likely got another Plasmid or two, don't ya', love?" The sound of a magazine sliding into place signals the end of the momentary pause, Abigail already moving as she mutters beneath her breath and bullets start flying, snapping off a return shot of her own. Both of their gunshots echo in the dark, gloomy asylum wing, and the inhabitants of the cells lining the corridor aren't happy about it; hoots, cries and screams of displeasure fill the shadowy hallway, an inhuman racket unlike anything Abigail's ever heard before.

The shimmering blue shield collapses as a trio of bullets slam into the Vigor-born barrier, and Abigail has to dive into a roll to avoid the following shots, bolting the moment she has her feet under her again; she's closing with the woman, but Abigail has no idea what she'll do when she gets there.

"Hell's bells! I can't even get a clean shot off at her!" She's completely on the defensive, Abigail throwing up another Return to Sender shield; she'd be gaining no ground at all if it weren't for the Vigor, and she's not too keen on using Murder of Crows. That Vigor's just too costly, and she can't risk the expenditure if her opponent could just dodge out of the way. Then her shield collapses again, and Abigail prepares Return to Sender yet again.

But a bullet whizzes past her scarred right cheek and ricochets off the metal door beside her, and Abigail winces, at least until she hears the 'click' of an empty magazine; this time, she raises her Hand cannon and takes careful aim, Abigail firing square at the raven-haired woman's chest.

The two women are no more than ten feet apart now, and against any opponent aside from a Handyman, Abigail would have a severely injured or very dead enemy on her hands after a shot like this. But this time, it goes just as she'd figured it would; the woman from Rapture slips out of the path of the bullet, dodging in a blur of silver by leaning back impossibly fast, her torso almost parallel to the ground for a split second.

"Son of a… hey!" Still aiming at the woman, Abigail takes a deep breath to forestall a curse, shouting at her opponent instead, "What the hell kinda Plasmid is that, Rapture lady?"

"Wait… what?" The woman blinks, staring back incredulously at Abigail, the smirk she's been wearing all this time vanishing.

"Gotcha." As the woman pauses for a moment, seemingly trying to comprehend Abigail's statement, the young redhead takes advantage of the respite and her enemy's surprise; she fires another shot at the dead center of the woman's chest again, this the best opportunity Abigail can ever imagine she'd get.

And the bullet almost hits; at the very last second, the raven-haired woman jerks her left shoulder back and follows through with the movement, pivoting on her right heel and falling back to her right in another display of wispy silver streaks. The bullet sails past harmlessly, all it doing is causing the woman to fall and leaving a small slash to appear in her uniform, the tear on the left shoulder all that's left by its passing.

"I've got ya…!" 'Click'. Abigail looks down at her Hand Cannon in horror, the weapon making another 'click' sound as she pulls the trigger again, "Oh no…" Bringing her left hand up again, Abigail prepares to defend herself with Return to Sender from the woman's counterattack. But a return volley doesn't come.

"Heh… heh heh…" A dark, malevolent chuckle comes from the raven-haired woman as she rises, "I never thought a redheaded, potato-eating leprechaun would know about Rapture and Plasmids. How did you come to learn about the city, and how did you know I was from there?" Abigail bristles as the woman speaks, the woman's mocking voice slightly husky, but no less feminine for it.

Abigail keeps quiet despite her anger, trying to figure how she can reload without getting shot in the process; she needs her left hand to do so, but then she can't use Return to Sender, and if she uses the Vigor beforehand, the woman can just start shooting. But the woman just shakes her head, "I guess I'll just have to do this the hard way…" The Broadsider falls to the smooth stone floor with a clatter, the raven-haired woman drawing a long, vicious looking knife from her belt. "Try not to pass out too quickly. I do hope you know how to use that blade on your back."

Abigail's eyes go wide, the vicious knife not holding a candle to the look in the woman's cold green eyes, "… things 'ave just gotten a lot more dangerous…" Dropping her empty Hand Cannon, Abigail instead grabs the pommel of her sword; she only has the blade half drawn when her foe charges.

The woman's fast even without the silvery Plasmid, crashing into Abigail with enough force to knock the redhead back a few feet, only the fact that the young woman managed to use Return to Sender to block the knife with a short-lived shield keeping her from being anything more than battered by the blow. But now that they're within striking distance of one another, Abigail finally realizes something, "She's… she's got almost a head on me! She's almost as tall as Booker!"

"What are you mumbling about?" The flash of the blade as it swings at her spurs Abigail to action, drawing her sword fully and deflecting the lethal knife. The loud 'clang' she'd expected, but the vibration of her weapon upon impact nearly jerks Abigail's sword from her grip; the woman hits hard!

"You're a Splicer, aren't ya'?" Swiping her blade horizontally at the woman's midsection, Abigail shouts back as her opponent hops away; she isn't even using that Plasmid yet.

"Splicer? I'm perfectly sane, you little whore!" Closing with her again, the woman from Rapture slashes three times in rapid succession, Abigail barely managing to block with her heavier, cumbersome weapon. But the woman swings again, putting her considerable strength into pushing Abigail back.

"Then why'd ya' come here?!" Abigail takes her left hand form her sword's pommel and balls it into a fist, lashing out and connecting with her opponent's jaw. But it doesn't have the desired effect.

"That's it?" The woman grabs Abigail's fist and forces it away before chuckling, the grip on the redhead's wrist drawing a yelp from her.

"Oh sh-" A head butt interrupts Abigail, sending the young woman reeling as the taller one presses her attack; Abigail can't quite defend herself, and she's quickly pushed all the way back down the hall and up against one of the angel statues there.

"Now, are you going to talk?" Stepping back and pointing her long, partly serrated knife at Abigail's face, the woman cocks her head, "Or are we going to do this the hard way?"

"G-go ta' hell." Breathing hard, Abigail has her left hand against the wall for support while her right holds the sword between her and the spliced up woman. But it looks like her foe has her dead to rights, and when she tsk-tsks, Abigail lets out a long, slow breath; it's now or never.

When the woman lunges, Abigail brings up her left hand again and flexes her fingers, this time into claws rather than splaying them out; an altogether different use of Return to Sender.

The vicious looking knife stops cold, the tip of the blade caught in a shifting, swirling, ball-shaped vortex of orange and black energy in Abigail's hand. "Bet ya' didn't know Return ta' Sender can be used like this, huh, Rapture lady!?"

The surprise on her opponent's face is priceless, but Abigail can't relish it just yet; she can feel her Salts draining fast, the knife shaking as the woman tries to force it through and the sphere in her hand glowing brighter as it is fed more and more energy. Abigail draws back the hand that's wrapped around her sword's pommel, shouting the moment her elbow touches the statue she's pressed up against, "Here, let's try this again!"

Lashing out with her fist rather than the sword, the close combat making the blade's length a burden, Abigail grins as the woman jumps away in a blur of silver light; just what she was waiting for. "Eat it, ya' freak!" Abigail hurtles the swirling orb of black and orange at her foe.

"No!" The woman jumps away yet again, but the orb detonates no more than a few feet from her despite the effort; the corridor's lit up by a brief flash of orange light, the explosion sending the denizen of Rapture tumbling away with a shout of pain. Abigail isn't spared the blast, either; the young redhead is forced against the statue and buffeted by the explosion, though to a far less extent than her opponent.

In the aftermath of the explosion, Abigail manages a shaky step, nearly stumbling from the exertion. "That… that isn't enough ta' stop her… is it?" Peering into the gloom, Abigail gulps when she spies her foe lying face down on the smooth stone floor, still smoldering. And still breathing, still gripping the knife.

And she stirs, the raven-haired woman rising slowly and pushing herself up from the floor, spitting blood. She looks battered, but not too worse for wear, and there's murder in her cold green eyes when she looks at Abigail. "Who are you?"

"Abigail of the Vox." Answering without a moment's hesitation, Abigail raises her sword, "That's all ya' need ta' know, lady." She takes a shaky step forward, running on pure adrenaline now.

"I am Commander Mercier. The Prophet himself granted me my rank not three days ago, and I came from that godforsaken city beneath the sea to serve a great man like Father Comstock." Rising slowly herself, Mercier glowers at Abigail, "And once I'm done with you, I'll hunt down that False Shepherd as well."

"Heh… heh… ha ha ha…" Though she's sore and exhausted, Abigail feels a sudden urge to start laughing despite her situation, and she has to plant the tip of her sword on the ground to keep from falling as laughter escapes her; while it starts weak, the fit of laughter grows quickly, and soon she has to hold her stomach. And the puzzled look on Mercier's face only makes it that much worse.

"What is this? I demand to know what's so funny!" The imperious tone in Mercier's voice draws another peal of laughter from the already out of breath redhead, Abigail having to fight to get any air between laughs.

"Ya'… ya' better hurry then." Once the laughter subsides, Abigail raises her weapon again, though she holds it loosely at her side, "If he ain't in the ground already, your dear Comstock's gonna be dead soon. Booker's gonna put that bastard Prophet of yours down."

"You place your hopes on the False Shepherd? It's impossible…"

"They're on the Hand of the Prophet now. Ya' Founders can't stop him; he'll be drownin' Comstock in his baptismal font any time now. And I…" Abigail brings the swirling orb of energy to her hand again, though it's mostly for show, "I ain't goin' down easy, love. Comstock's not the only one who can play Prophet with Tears."

The mention of Tears drains all the color from Mercier's face, and she takes a step back, "I won't let that happen… you get to live for today, whore."

A deep, heavy sigh of relief escapes Abigail once the sound of Mercier's footfalls is gone, the woman sprinting out of the wing with only her knife in hand, and the young redhead damn near collapses as the tension leaves her.

"Whoever that woman is… she's dangerous… and why in the hell would she want ta' come here an' join Comstock?" Abigail just can't understand why the woman would go to the trouble; didn't she have to suffer Tear sickness to come here? Muttering to herself as she shakes her head, Abigail trudges over to where her fallen Hand Cannon rests, sheathing her sword along the way. But the trudge quickly turns into a limp, pain shooting up Abigail's leg as adrenaline abandons her, "Hell's bells… that's gonna leave a scar."

There's an angry red gash running diagonally down her left thigh, starting from the upper outside and going inward as it travels south. Blood has already dampened the blue cloth of her stolen uniform there, and the pain's only getting worse. Still, Abigail limps over to retrieve her weapon, the act taking a good minute or two.

"Gah! W-Who are you? Guards, guards!"

A shout comes from the direction the woman from Rapture had disappeared, Abigail wondering what can happen now as she looks down the dark hallway. But light suddenly fills the corridor, forcing Abigail to blink as she's momentarily dazzled. When her vision clears, Abigail finds a middle-aged woman standing at the far end of the hallway, a cart in front of her with what looks to be food on it. A caretaker probably, and a spinster at that more than likely. And she's scared, that much is plain, even though the hoots and howls from the other cells have diminished.

"Y-you can't have her!" Stammering at Abigail, the spinster keeps her distance, sounding as if she's unaccustomed to speaking with people.

"Her…" Blinking, Abigail realizes she'd momentarily forgotten why she was here in the first place after the close call with Mercier, and the redhead turns and hobbles over to the decorated door as quickly as she's able.

Peering into the room again, Abigail strains to see as deep into the left side as possible. But all she can make out is a figure under the covers of the bed, delicate hands that can only be a woman's crossed over the sleeper's stomach at the absolute edge of her vision. But a glint of silver causes Abigail's breath to catch in her throat.

It's the thimble, the silver thimble that adorned Booker's Elizabeth's right pinky finger, and covers up the severed portion of said finger. What she sees before her is exactly what Abigail recalls from Booker's memories, "It's… it's her…"

"No! You can't disturb her!" The sound of the cart barreling towards Abigail precedes the spinster's voice, the young woman turning about to see the caretaker abandoning the cart as she approaches and runs up to her, flailing. She must be trying to fight Abigail off, even though her blows only surprise the young redhead; they're too weak to even be called strikes.

"Stop… stop!" Grabbing the woman by the shoulders, Abigail holds the spinster at arm's length, inwardly wincing at the almost desperate tone in her voice, "Ya' know the code ta' get in here, right? Show me! She… she don't deserve ta' be locked up in here!"

"But… but she can't go anywhere else!" Now the spinster looks like she's about to cry, "She… she just can't! And I won't let you hurt her!"

"What do you mean, she can't?" Even as a sense of dread begins to form in the pit of her stomach, Abigail realizes she must be crushing the spinster's shoulders in her grip, and eases up. "What happened to Elizabeth?"

The woman stares back at her forlornly for a moment before looking down, her voice a whisper, "I… I have to take away the withered flowers… after I feed her…"

"Did she… retreat inward? C'mon, snap outta it!" The caretaker's reaction only makes Abigail's dread grow, and she shakes the woman once, then twice, "Tell me!"

"My… my cart." The spinster steps towards her cart, and Abigail releases her grip on the middle-aged woman. From an unseen lower level of the cart, the caretaker produces a voxophone, covered in a thin layer of dust like the furniture in the room beyond. "Take it… you just can't take her. The guards are coming... just… just go!" With that, the spinster pushes the voxophone into Abigail's hands with a surprising amount of strength before pushing her away, "I… I have to take away the dead flowers… so sad… her father brought them, but he hasn't been back…"

Abigail wants to press the caretaker further as the older woman retreats into her work again, but a 'ding' comes from the elevator, the doors opening a second later. "Abby!"

"Viv?"

Vivian appears from the elevator and hurries over to Abigail, her eyes going wide when she sees the gash in her leg, "Abby, we have to go, the Founders are on to us. There's four gunships coming, we've got maybe five minutes!"

"No… wait, no! I'm so… she's right there!" Motioning to the decorated door, a sense of desperation grips Abigail as Vivian starts hurrying her to the elevator; she's too beat to put up much resistance, and even though her friend's taking her to safety, being so close only to be pulled away tears at Abigail. She might just have cried if she had the energy.

The last thing Abigail sees of the asylum wing and Elizabeth's cage as the doors close is the caretaker leaning close to the dual-dial lock on the door, and she whispers as she clutches the voxophone to her chest, "No… I… I'm coming back… I'll be back."

* * *

**Author's Note: For the record, Mercier is the woman from Rapture's surname. Well, a lot of people have been making guesses at who she could've been, and sorry to say she's just an original character to act as an antagonist. Now, this chapter isn't as long as it could have been, only 3.5k words roughly before the note here, but this felt like a good place to stop. **

**Of course, there's still plenty of questions for this chapter. Why is Elizabeth, if that really is Elizabeth, in that room in the asylum and unable to leave? What's up with the woman from Rapture, and just how spliced up do you think she is? And what do you think will happen once Comstock is dead and both Booker and Elizabeth leave Columbia to wipe out all the Comstock's?**

**Regardless, I'll be giving the chapter one last lookover in the coming days, as per usual. Thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoyed the chapter.**


	10. The Prophet's Wake

Abigail sits alone in the pilot's cabin of the cargo barge, her back to the wall opposite the craft's controls and the empty window that looks out onto the deck. Not that she can see what's out there; the cabin still lacks seats of any kind, Abigail having to sit on the scuffed wooden floor, the young redhead slumped forward with her arms hanging limply at her side. She still clutches the voxophone in her gloved right hand, and it only then occurs to her that she still hasn't let go of the voice recorder ever since she first had it shoved into her arms.

"That… that frettin' lady, givin' me this…" Ever so slowly, Abigail turns to look at the voxophone in her hand. She's still in shock after her encounter with that Mercier woman, among other things, and she's been this way since Vivian pulled her into the elevator and the doors closed.

Her lips draw back as if grimacing, and Abigail squints as her eyes begin to sting, the young Vox fighting to keep the tears back. It's not just the fact that she'd nearly avoided yet another violent end, or that she'd come so close only to be forced into a retreat before reaching the caged Elizabeth that has Abigail on the verge of tears, though.

She'd been full of questions in the elevator, as well as anger and disappointment; it'd taken everything Abigail had to keep from snapping at her friend or punching the ornately designed wall. But once she'd calmed down, Abigail turned her attention to the voxophone that the attendant had thrust into hands. "I… I shouldn't have listened ta' that recordin'… not till I was alone at least…"

In her impatience and frustration, Abigail had pressed the playback button on the voxophone without a moment's hesitation, heedless of Vivian's presence in the ascending elevator car. Had she been thinking straight, Abigail would have waited until she had returned to her quarters in the factory or taken the barge into the clouds on her own before playing it; but the words of the middle-aged woman who serves as Elizabeth's caretaker harried her thoughts, and Abigail simply had to know what she meant.

"Now… now I wish I never found out…" Pulling her splayed out legs close to her chest while still slumped up, Abigail manages to lift her arms and rest them on her knees, despite her whole body feeling numb.

The recording on the voxophone was from the same, now deceased doctor as the last, and Abigail could only grimace as she felt Vivian's gaze on her; the voxophone quite readily revealed to her friend just who it was that Abigail sought in the asylum, but Vivian had the sense to keep quiet as the recorded voice filled the confines of the elevator car. And Abigail hadn't been in much shape to answer her questions once it had run its course.

"Fell on my ass once it finished playin'… like a weak-kneed little lass…" Groaning quietly, Abigail rests her forehead on her left arm, the limb resting atop both knees while the right holds the voxophone away from her. As if it could do her any more harm now.

Abigail had practically collapsed once she'd finished listening to the voxophone, all the nerve-wracking tension, spine-tingling fear and the remnants of the lump of anxiety in the pit of her stomach coming to a head all at once. She could hardly believe what she had just heard at the time, and even now, Abigail just can't reconcile what was said then with reality. It'd taken all the fight out of her, and she just feels… empty.

"Thank God Viv was there ta' help…" A rueful smile tugs at Abigail's lips, despite the tears that had threated to escape. Vivian had helped her out of the elevator when it deposited them back in the living quarters of the Prophet, she barely aware of her surroundings at that point; it wasn't until she was safely back on the barge that she regained awareness of her situation, and Abigail had forced her way to the cabin and steered the craft away from Comstock House before what little strength she had left abandoned her.

Vivian and the rest of her squad had wanted answers, but Abigail had managed a glare to shut them the hell up, and they left her to brood in peace as the cargo barge continued into the clouds on its own power. Even Vivian, though she had stopped at the cabin's door to give Abigail a worried look.

"I'll… I'll have ta' make this up ta' Viv latter… going' ta' be a lotta explainin' ta do…" A frown touches Abigail's lips; Vivian could be telling the whole squad what she'd heard in the elevator, and that'll make things even worse. There's still plenty of resentment and anger over what happened to Daisy, even if this Elizabeth's hands are clean.

Lifting her head from her arm, Abigail stares at the voxophone with a mixture of sorrow and trepidation, her gloved hand still gripping the handle portion of the sound capturing device. Maybe she missed something the first time around, some mention of a possibility that eluded her; that thought gives Abigail a touch of hope, the young redhead bringing the voxophone close once more and hesitantly reaching for the playback button.

The voxophone comes to life the moment Abigail touches the black button, and she grits her teeth as the voice of the same doctor from before fills the cargo barge's cabin. The redheaded girl rests against the back wall of the cabin and closes her eyes as the voxophone plays, bracing herself for what's to come.

"Dr. Pettifog… the four… fourteenth of July, 1912… it has been a week since my last recording, and several hours since our latest round of… treatment. The Lamb… er, the specimen had been starting to show progress as of late, her resistance to the procedure growing weaker and weaker with every session; she still screams, but at least the begging has come to an end."

"Bastard…" Cursing, Abigail tightens her grip on the voxophone as the doctor's voice pauses after clinically describing Elizabeth's suffering. She'd done much the same in the elevator, Vivian looking at her in surprise at the merest mention of the Lamb.

"But… that may have simply been a ruse. When we came for her today, the specimen seemed calm, almost… docile, resigned. When my colleague, Dr. Powell, promised the sessions should come to an end soon if she continued to improve, the specimen had shaken her head and whispered, 'they will end… sooner than you might think.' She'd barely acknowledged the restraints when we secured her to the chair, and completely ignored the Prophet when he'd stepped into the observation room overhead. And there was no screaming… no screaming at all when we began, the Lamb simply gritting her teeth and screwing her eyes shut."

The doctor's voice grows shakier as he goes on, and he falls silent once again as he mentions Elizabeth's reaction to the 'treatment'. Abigail has to fight back a sob; she can only try to imagine the suffering Comstock's doctors inflicted on the already tortured Elizabeth, but what's sure to come next shook her to the core when last she heard it. And the redhead bites her lip to keep from stopping the voxophone before it continues.

"At first, we thought the specimen was simply bearing the pain. What fools we were; she was in fact fighting the treatment and preparing herself for the shocks we were sure to administer. The Lamb… forced her way through all of our precautions and managed to… alter the state of things. The pain must have been excruciating… uh… a thunderstorm appeared in the operating theater, centered directly above the specimen. A bolt struck Dr. Powell, and while his wounds are not severe, he will need a couple days to recover, and the Prophet may have been wounded or killed if not for the protective glass of the observation room."

The sound of the doctor taking a breath before continuing draws another grimace across Abigail's face; it's just about time. "But… the majority of the lightning bolts struck the chair the Lamb was secured to and the generator she was attached to, and that… that's when we realized her earlier meaning; she meant to end it, herself. The… spinal tap carried the current into her body… I can still see her spasming in the chair…"

"Doctor. How is my daughter?"

A new voice breaks into the doctor's hesitant retelling, and Abigail growls even as she wipes a hint of tears from her eyes. "Comstock…" The Prophet's voice is quiet, almost sounding concerned.

"Oh, Prophet… the Lamb is recovering, but shows no signs of waking. We managed to get her heart beating again, and as far as we can tell she's healthy… but she shows no reaction to the Siphon we've been using. We aren't sure what is wrong, but…"

"Continue to refine your procedure, doctor; she shall wake. And if not, perhaps there will be another whom your expertise can be applied to." Footsteps sound from the voxophone, and Abigail isn't surprised to find the needle reaching the center of the record; this is a long recording for a voxophone.

"Of course, Prophet… um, in closing… the Lamb is unconscious, and while she reacts to some stimuli, she shows no signs of regaining consciousness or of feeling the effects of the Siphon. Whatever damage the attempt to end her life caused is beyond us… Dr. Pettifog, signing off…"

The voxophone falls from Abigail's fingers as the doctor's voice disappears, clattering on the worn wooden floorboards of the cabin. And Abigail only lets her arm fall to her side again, her gloved hand resting palm up on the floor; she doesn't move, doesn't think, and barely even breathes as the doctor's words sink in for a second time. All she can do is stare at that damn voxophone.

"Six months… or nearly…" Mumbling to herself after a good while has passed, Abigail can only shudder as she tries to imagine the hell that would have driven this Elizabeth to try and end it all. She never had a Booker to believe in, nor did she have the… limited experience Booker's Elizabeth had to toughen her up. And Comstock would have started the torture up again should she have woken.

"That son of a bitch!" Kicking the voxophone as numbness and despair turns to fury, Abigail damn near screams as she lashes out, the recording device sliding across the cabin's well-worn floorboards to slam into the wall on the far side of the room.

"Abby!?"

Vivian's at the door a moment later, Wei and Mattie appearing at the window a few seconds after the former Columbian corporal. Abigail grimaces as she bites back another curse and rubs her eyes, the young woman not surprised in the least to feel something warm and wet beneath her ungloved fingers.

"Abby, are you okay?" Vivian offers Abigail her hand, but the distraught redhead waves it away, slowly climbing to her feet on her own.

"Viv… did you…?" But Vivian just shakes her head, though her eyes still show plenty of confusion and no small measure of worry. "Thanks, Viv…" Managing a smile, Abigail slips past Vivian Monroe and steps out of the cabin, the cool December air on her face invigorating and breathing new life into her tired body.

"Abigail, what were you looking for in there?" Wei speaks up once Abigail's out the door, the medic standing by the window with his arms crossed.

"I was lookin'…" Abigail pauses as 'Yu' and Sean step up to join the rest of the squad, "… lookin' for a friend of mine…"

"Ya' said that already, boss." Sean smoothes back his unruly brown hair, looking a touch annoyed, "What were we really doin' there?"

"I… I can't…"

"Why… gah!" Sean's angry demand is cut short, 'Yu' clamping a hand on his shoulder and digging a thumb into the boy's collarbone. That draws a wince from everyone else, Abigail included.

"Let her speak." He only says three words, but Sean nods frantically as he squirms out of 'Yu's' grasp.

"Thanks… it would've been a lot easier ta' explain, if I got her out…" Abigail's heart sinks; despite the interruption, her squad mates all seem intent on getting answers. How is she going to explain there being a second Lamb?

"Wait… Abigail, look…." A hand on her arm precedes Mattie's quiet voice, Abigail following the younger girl's gaze as the rest of the squad does the same. And Abigail's eyes go wide with surprise; before them is Monument Tower, or what's left of it, the Hand of the Prophet hanging in the sky above them.

"I never meant ta' take us here…" Her voice is but a whisper; Abigail chose a random heading to get away from Comstock House, her thoughts in too much turmoil to pick out a proper course. But an idea crosses her mind, and Abigail manages to chuckle, "We're goin' up there."

The rest of the squad snaps around to look at her as if she were daft, even the ever serious 'Yu'. "Huh?" He can stammer all of one word as Abigail steps back into the cabin.

* * *

"Oh my God…"

Vivian's hushed gasp is echoed by Sean, 'Yu', Wei and Mattie simply staring in awe as Abigail only nods. The six of them stand on a field of green grass aboard Father Comstock's flagship, a stained glass display of Elizabeth with children looking down on them. "How…" Mattie looks up to Abigail, "How did you know?"

"Looks like I got a little prophet in me, too… but it ends here…" Abigail smiles grimly; she'd told everyone that the soldiers on the Hand of the Prophet were all dead or routed, and that the Prophet himself had been killed by the False Shepherd and the Lamb. And now, here they stand, staring at the corpse of the Zachary Comstock.

The Prophet's white hair on the back of his head is stained with red, blood from a nasty looking wound there, but that isn't what killed him; Comstock is face down in a baptismal font, the Prophet's feet barely touching the floor as his upper body seems partially supported by the standing basin. And while the Prophet's death has been a longstanding goal for each and every member of the Vox Populi, everyone seems in awe now that he's dead.

But not Abigail. The memories she'd borrowed from Booker had shown her this, and in a way, Abigail's still alive because of this memory in particular; Mercier most certainly would have killed her if she hadn't told her of Comstock's impending death.

"But now I'm on my own…" Thinking to herself, Abigail breathes a quiet sigh; the memories after Booker and Elizabeth escape Comstock House become less and less clear as they approach the end, and stop altogether once Monument Tower and the Siphon within is destroyed. Now, the memories are only that; memories, not glimpses of a future and a story she shouldn't know.

But as she stares at the Prophet's body and her squad begins to murmur, Abigail doesn't feel any satisfaction. Instead, anger swirls up from within, coursing and bubbling through her veins: anger for her family, torn apart by Fink; anger for Elizabeth, suffering for six months at her 'father's' hands; and anger for the other Elizabeth, alone and abandoned by Comstock when she could take no more.

"So… is it over?" Sean's voice intrudes on Abigail's thoughts, and she blinks as she finds her teeth clenched and her hands balled up into fists.

"No." 'Yu' shakes his head.

"He's right…" Vivian's shuddering voice follows 'Yu's', "It's not over just because the Prophet is dead."

"The Founders are still comin' for us." Turning to Sean, Abigail manages a small, lopsided grin, "This is goin' ta' hurt 'em, but the war's nowhere near done."

Turning her gaze back to Comstock as the rest of the squad talk among themselves, Abigail can't help but think back on the lives lost because of this… twisted mirror of the man she met; it still hurts her head to think that Comstock and Booker started as the same man.

"They're all gone now…" Whispering so as to go unheard, Abigail takes a step towards the body of the Prophet, "Three Bookers an' two Elizabeth's came an' went… all except her, of course…" She'd never met the Booker who became a martyr for the Vox Populi, but she's sure he would've been little different from the Booker that just escaped Columbia with Elizabeth. "Escape… I guess that's a word for it…"

But then Abigail realizes something; shouldn't everything be gone? Elizabeth's going to erase this world, any world with a Columbia. Has it just not happened yet, or did it already happen?"

Looking around slowly, wondering if everything she'd fought for and the girl she's been searching for is about to disappear, Abigail can't help a feeling of helplessness and regret; the thought of disappearing without a trace scares the young redhead, and Abigail is glad her back is to her squad. "If only I'd gotten ta' her sooner… the Luteces coulda taken her somewhere safe…" Abigail looks up at the image of Elizabeth in the stained glass, waiting for whatever may be.

But nothing happens, and Abigail feels a tug on her sleeve after a minute or two. "Abby, you listening?"

"Huh? Uh, no… what do ya' need, Viv?"

"What do you want us to do now, Abigail?" Sean pipes up, the kid brushing the hair from his eyes again.

"Umm… there should be some supplies in the next room…" Abigail looks around the room again; whatever was going to happen should have happened by now, shouldn't it? Shaking her head, Abigail breathes a quiet sigh as she thinks to herself, "This business makes my head spin…" The thought reminds her of a similar line that Booker said, drawing a lopsided grin for a moment.

Lingering in the garden as the rest of her squad goes in search of supplies, Abigail turns only to find Vivian still standing there. "Abby… are you looking for the Lamb?"

"… yes, Viv."

"But she killed Daisy…" Vivian keeps her voice low, but there's a touch of desperation in her tone; a need to understand Abigail's reasons. "I know what you said, but… even if it was to end Comstock…"

"No… that was another Lamb… Vivian, it's hard ta' explain, but…" Shaking her head, Abigail looks up at the stained glass again, "Ya' remember Booker DeWitt, how another was with the Lamb? Daisy said they were imposters, but… another appeared. Three Bookers came ta' Columbia." Though two were one and the same, she adds silently.

"So… you're saying that you're looking for this other Lamb? That's… that's crazy, Abby. Why?"

"Crazy… a flyin' city, a giant flyin' bird creature, Vigors… Viv, Columbia's crazy." Smiling back at Vivian, Abigail takes a step closer to her friend. Vivian doesn't shy away, and Abigail continues softly, "This Elizabeth… she doesn't deserve ta' be caged any longer. I'm goin' ta' get her out of there… somehow…"

"I…" Vivian hesitates as she stares back at Abigail, the former Columbian soldier nodding slowly once the moment passes, "I guess you're right… but how? You can't just waltz in and out of there like the wind. Comstock House… even though he's dead…" She nods towards Comstock's corpse.

"I'll figure somethin' out…" Shrugging, Abigail smiles back at her friend, Vivian returning the grin with one of her own.

"Abigail! Slim pickings, but we found ourselves some ammo and Salts!" Wei's shout draws both Abigail's and Vivian's attention, the redhead shaking her head slowly.

"Just grab what ya' can, we're getting' outta here, right now!"

"Huh?" Wei and Sean appear in the doorway, both looking confused as the latter speaks up, "Why?"

"Cause the Founders are bound ta' come an' retrieve their flagship." Abigail makes for the stairs, chuckling at the brown-haired kid's expression of dismay, "An' unless ya' fancy the idea of takin' on their army by ourselves, get goin'!"

Hurrying up the stairs with Vivian close behind her and the rest of the squad making to follow, Abigail's smile turns grim as her own words sink in; this war is far from over, and it can only get worse in the wake of Booker and Elizabeth. "An' that don't account for a monster like Mercier runnin' around…" The thought draws a grimace across Abigail's features; she has to get stronger for the next time they meet. And Abigail can't imagine that the woman from Rapture is going to leave just because Comstock is dead.

* * *

The door to Abigail's own living quarters swings inward sluggishly, the exhausted redhead trudging inside wearily after a moment. Night had fallen a couple hours ago, and while Abigail had wanted nothing more than to crawl into bed after returning to the factory, other matters required her attention.

"Even after makin' a damn fool of himself, Downs' got a way of makin' my life miserable…" The attack Downs had orchestrated on the Hand of the Prophet had gone just as badly as she knew it would, yet somehow the blowhard had managed to survive. Still, over half of the soldier's loyal to him didn't, and Downs' position within the Vox Populi has taken a major blow as a result. Unfortunately, that left Abigail and her people in an unenviable position, all the other factions and leaders looking at them as the single largest faction remaining within the Vox Populi. And by extension, Abigail is the leader of the most powerful faction.

"Dammit, I just want my sleep!" Unslinging the sword and sheathe from her back and removing her Hand Cannon and holster from her belt, Abigail drops both by the side of her bed before collapsing onto the modestly comfortable mattress. It's no luxurious bed like in Comstock's quarters or in Emporia, but it's hers.

"It seems we've come at a bad time." Abigail opens her eyes slowly as the voice of Rosalind Lutece fills her ears.

"Perhaps we should return another time." Rolling over, Abigail peers through the darkness of her room at the Lutece twins, both giving her a slight bow of the head as Robert Lutece retorts and flips on the light switch. A curse comes unbidden to her lips as light floods the room, Abigail wincing at the brightness.

"What do ya' want?" Lying on her side, Abigail makes no effort or rise or be especially welcoming; she's had too much of a bad day, and it'd be a surprise to the redhead if she could muster the energy for either.

"We want very little. But…" Robert quips.

"You do. Now that you know the truth of the matter, what is it you wish to do?" Rosalind finishes her brother's sentence.

"I want ta' sleep. But I don't suppose that's goin' ta' happen…" Rolling onto her back, Abigail groans as she somehow manages to force herself up into a sitting position.

"Perhaps. But we do not mean at the present." An amused look crosses Robert's face, and Abigail just scowls at him.

"But in the near future. Is it your intention to tell the girl and her father of your discovery?" Continuing her brother's statement, Rosalind does not look at all amused.

"The girl… ya' mean Booker an' Elizabeth?"

"Precisely." Both Robert and Rosalind answer in unison, drawing a sigh from Abigail as she rubs her temples.

"No… no, I don't. It'd be one thing if I found her healthy, an' got her out… but this?" The mere mention of the still caged Elizabeth causes Abigail's heart to sink once more, "It'd be cruel… an' I don't want ta' give those two a reason ta' come back here…"

"It would seem I win this round, brother." Rosalind glances up at Robert for a moment before returning her attention to Abigail.

"It would at that, dear sister." Shrugging, Robert focuses his attention on Abigail as well, after a moment, "Then may I ask what it is you intend to do, Miss Abigail?"

"I'm goin' ta' get her outta there. I don't know how, or when… but I'll figure somethin'." Shaking her head, Abigail decides against asking what game the twins are playing. "But… I do have somethin' I'd like ta' give ya'."

Leaning over and reaching for the heavy suitcase resting beside her bed, Abigail carefully rests it flat on the floor while still lying on the mattress, not wanting to risk trusting her legs right now. Opening it just as carefully, Abigail retrieves two objects after staring at the contents in silence for a few seconds, "I think she'll like these…"

"Oh?" Robert and Rosalind step closer as Abigail sits upright and holds up the violin with bow and the packets of seeds she'd retrieved from the now destroyed Monument Tower, the redhead now seated on the edge of her bed. Each takes one of the gifts, Rosalind glancing at the seeds for a moment before asking, "I take it these aren't for us."

"Heh. For Elizabeth. Birthday, Christmas… whenever ya' think it best, give these ta' her…"

"Very well." Robert nods, the violin and bow in hand, "And for you? Perhaps there is something we can do for you?"

"Ah…" Hesitantly, Abigail falls silent for a moment as the twins look on, "Ya' could… let me see 'em once in a while…"

"Very well, if that will do." Rosalind nods, "But would you perhaps rather have the chance to visit them?"

"Visit?" Blinking, Abigail stares up at the twins in surprise; the thought of actually seeing Booker again and meeting Elizabeth properly never seemed like a possibility to her. But even as she mulls over the Luteces' offer, Abigail slowly shakes her head, "No… I can't. I said I don't want ta' give 'em a reason ta' come back ta' Columbia… besides, I can't just up an' abandon everyone…"

"If that is your decision." Nodding, Robert steps back slowly, Rosalind doing the same, "Then we shall be off. Just keep in mind; the offer stands." The twins are already gone by the time Abigail looks up to thank them, the exhausted redhead shaking her head before lying back down to sleep.

* * *

**Author's Note: So... that's what happened to the Elizabeth from the final reality. I don't mean to get anyone down with such a dark outcome, but I couldn't imagine anything good happening to this Elizabeth for her to be completely overlooked, and there were a couple other options that I had considered that were decidedly worse. Of course, that doesn't mean Abigail isn't going to stop trying to break her out of the asylum. **

**Now that the events of Infinite have come and gone, and Columbia still exists, what do you think is going to happen now that both the Vox and Founders have lost their leaders? How bad off do you think Elizabeth is? And how long do you think it'll be before Abigail tries again? **

**As usual, I'll look over the chapter at a later date, but I think I've caught most of the glaring errors and inconsistencies. Thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoyed the chapter.**


	11. Springtime For Columbia

**Foreword: Well, I did mention that the chapter would be a day late, due to my work schedule, and here it is; this chapter's more of a transitory chapter than anything else, a little bit of post-Comstock Columbia.**

* * *

March 19, 1913, 10:55 AM

A frown begins to tug at Abigail's features, but the redhead fights to keep it from her expression; she and the other leaders of the Vox Populi have been in a meeting for nearly three hours, and all she's heard is a lot of infighting, each faction having their own grievances and problems that they would place the most importance on. All in all, there are seven leaders clustered around the large, heavy wooden table in what used to be Fink's office, the airship dock just outside and Fink's quarters off to the side. And of the seven, only two aren't arguing about some trivial matter; herself and Preston E. Downs, Abigail more than a little surprised by this fact.

Much of the man's bluster and bravado left him after his failed assault and attempted capture of the Hand of the Prophet, and the resulting casualties hadn't helped his standing one bit; Abigail had been certain one of the other leaders would have had him killed, but Downs has kept his head down since and consolidated what was left of his followers, those who hadn't perished in the attack or fled to another's banner afterwards.

"Surprised he came at all…" Muttering to herself, Abigail crosses her arms and heaves a sigh, the young redheaded leaning back in her seat as the others argue; she'd learned that trying to be the voice of reason when everyone's blood is up will only get her singled out, inviting the others' ire rather than accomplishing anything. "Best let them wear themselves out first…" The thought does little to improve Abigail's mood; this is the first meeting they've had in the last two months due to paranoia.

Looking down at the sprawling map of Columbia that's been spread out on the table, Abigail has to fight to keep from frowning again; among other difficulties, an up-to-date map of Columbia is nearly impossible to maintain, what with the buildings and districts able to separate and fly off to another part of the city. What's depicted here is a best guess, compiled from scouting reports, and there's far too much blue on it for her liking.

"The Founders 'ave pushed us outta Emporia again… even taken Port Prosperity. An' they've been seen in some of the surroundin' areas, too…" Resting her chin between thumb and forefinger, Abigail finally relents and allows a small frown to twist her features. A counteroffensive has already been planned, and there's one thing that everyone here can agree on; that it will be a hard-fought battle. "Hell's bells… this has turned into a mess…"

The state of the war has changed so many times that Abigail's lost count; sometimes the Vox Populi's victory seems assured, other times it feels as though the Founders could be knocking on their door anytime now. It's been this way since the Prophet's death, the Founders trying to find a suitable leader.

"This last push has somethin' ta' do with that monster's death… the Founders wasted enough of everyone's time claimin' the Prophet was just 'in seclusion'…" It's only been a month since news of Zachary Comstock's demise became widespread, the Founders having kept the Prophet's death under wraps this whole time. Now, they're rallying their troops behind Comstock's death, spurring the Columbian military on with righteous indignation and avenging zeal. "That was a pleasant surprise ta' face… the bastards fought harder than I'd ever seen…"

Flexing her ungloved left hand, Abigail grimaces as feathers briefly spring from her flesh and her nails turn into black, hooked talons, the memory of that monstrous bird creature in the asylum coming to mind whenever she sees the effects of Murder of Crows. "And that other monster's still runnin' 'round Columbia…" Abigail groans at the thought as two of the weaker factions' leaders nearly come to blows, the others separating them.

Commander Mercier is now a well-known figure to the Vox Populi, though only Abigail and the few she's confided to know just how dangerous she truly is; the raven-haired woman, as it turns out, commands the Founder squad the Vox have come to call 'ghosts', and has continued to harry the revolutionaries with ambushes and raids.

"Almost got a matchin' set here, last we met…" Abigail traces a finger along the scar that runs down the left side of her face, a touch of a grimace threatening to twist her expression. Since her confrontation with the woman from Rapture, Abigail's faced Mercier twice more in these past three months, and each time she'd nearly met her maker. "At least I'm getting' better…"

Finally, the arguments and insults being flung across the table begin to die down, and Abigail slowly picks herself up. "Fellas, I've got a couple a' problems myself. It's spring, an' unless we do somethin' with Arboria, we'll all be tightenin' our belts come winter. This last one was plenty rough, imagine the next without a thing ta' eat."

Low murmurs fill the room, some in argument, some disgruntled, but none interrupting. "An' we also need ta' get the factory goin' again. We're runnin' outta places ta' scavenge, an' we'll be needin' ammo, clothin', Salts…"

"Now hold on, Miss Abigail." Downs speaks up, his first words since the meeting started, "We're fighting a war, girl; you expect some of us to go back to being factory workers and farmhands?"

"You never worked in the factory, Downs, don't talk like you know a thing about it!" One of the other leaders nearly spits at Preston Downs, the big game hunter glaring daggers back at the man.

"Just sayin' we need ta' look into it." Taking her seat, Abigail rests her elbows on the table and interlaces her fingers, hiding the frown that appears; she can already tell that this isn't going to affect any real change. Being the leader of the largest faction, the others will sometimes follow her lead should she decide to make a move against the Founders, but not in any other regard. "Guess that'll be useful, when the time comes…"

* * *

1:30 PM

"Son of a…" Striding through the factory and cursing beneath her breath, Abigail heaves a long, exasperated sigh; the meeting went on for another half hour after she'd said her piece, and absolutely nothing was accomplished. She and Downs just glared at each other across the table, while the other leaders fought over living quarters and food rationing. "Bunch of goddamn fools…"

Now, Abigail's returned to the part of the factory claimed by her people, and she hadn't stopped looking over her shoulder until well inside; while the infighting between Vox factions has supposedly come to an end, the fact remains that she could still very well be targeted by one of the others.

"Abigail."

"Ah! Oh, ya' startled me…" Jumping a little at the voice, Abigail finds 'Yu' standing before her, the taciturn, older man wearing his usual, severe expression. She's been trying to figure how to pronounce his name for a fair while now, and Abigail still has some trouble with it on occasion, "Yoshiro, is everythin' ready for tonight?"

"It is." Yoshiro nods curtly, his accent thick as he continues, "How went the meeting?"

"Same as always. Lots of fightin', not a lot of much anythin' else…"

A scowl crosses the older man's face, his brown eyes narrowing as he says something in his native tongue, something Abigail can only imagine is a curse. "Unfortunate." Continuing in English once he's finished, Yoshiro steps aside, "Then we must do it ourselves."

"Yeah…" Nodding, Abigail resumes her pace, Yoshiro falling in beside her, and she can't help but peer up at the old soldier; if she had to guess, Yoshiro isn't as old as Slate was, the man's age more likely around Booker's. "The second Booker," correcting herself silently, Abigail shakes her head and chuckles, "the older one I saw in Emporia."

"Abigail, we should continue our lessons."

"Huh? Oh…" Now Abigail stops in her tracks, wincing slightly at the thought; Yoshiro has been teaching her how to use her blade, and his lessons are usually painful, involving heavy wooden swords and not a single piece of protective padding. "Not now, I've been meanin' ta' get some sleep before tonight…" Glancing up at Yoshiro, Abigail finds him watching her, his face as impassive as stone. "Maybe later…"

Yoshiro nods curtly again and turns down a corridor without another word, disappearing before too long, and Abigail can only breathe a quiet sigh; the man's an honest to God soldier like Slate was, who'd fought in actual wars. He'd be a better commander than she is, but Yoshiro seems unable to inspire or otherwise rally support, and so he simply advises Abigail on tactics and strategies while she bears the mantle of leadership. Something she's not particularly happy about; Abigail's constantly beset with doubts over her ability to lead.

Pondering the possible steps she could take, Abigail slowly wends her way through the factory until she reaches her destination; her new home, though it's just as temporary as the last one. She'd had her personal effects in here for a couple weeks now, having moved here due to it being far more secure than her old quarters.

"I'm back…" Calling out to no one in particular as she steps into her quarters, really just a slightly larger room than her old with nary a window in sight, Abigail closes her eyes as a yawn escapes her. And she's only partly surprised by what greets her when she opens them again.

"Welcome back." Robert Lutece greets her without turning to look, the redheaded scientist keeping stock still.

"Yes, welcome." Rosalind doesn't stop what she's doing either, though the sister Lutece does turn to glance her way.

"… why are ya' paintin' your brother in my quarters."

"Why not?" Rosalind looks up from her canvas, she at the far end of the room and in the corner opposite the bed while her brother stands nearer to Abigail and the door, striking his usual pose, "It is a perfectly fine room to paint in."

"Indeed, it is. Though natural light would be preferable to artificial, don't you agree, sister?"

"A fair point."

"Guh… why'd I even ask?" Slipping past the twins, Abigail drops face first on the bed, this one a touch more comfortable than the last. "I've got a long day ahead of me, so I'd appreciate a little peace." Glancing up from her bed at Rosalind, Abigail heaves a sigh into the mattress; she hasn't seen the twins since the day she broke into Comstock House and Booker and Elizabeth fled this floating city.

"We have been indisposed ourselves," Robert speaks up, almost as if he'd read her thoughts, "And we are rather curious as to how you will proceed from here."

"You've been so preoccupied keeping your people and those huddled in that church alive through the winter that you've done little towards your stated purpose." Rosalind steps back from the canvas to peer at Abigail, "Has your position and responsibilities rendered your earlier convictions as impossibilities?"

"The hell it has!" Bolting upright, Abigail glares at Rosalind Lutece, her teeth grit and hands balled into fists, "I haven't given up. I'm goin' ta' get her outta there, ya' can bet on it!"

"Then we suggest you make haste." Nodding, Rosalind turns back to her canvas.

"If you mean to rescue her, then you should make it so before further responsibilities find their way into your hands." Robert manages a quick nod before becoming as a statue again.

"But what comes next?" Another quip from Rosalind.

"Yes, how will you care for her, should you manage to retrieve the girl? She can do nothing for herself." The statue that is Robert continues, his eyes darting over to her for a split second.

"I… I don't know." Despite the surge of anger, Abigail can't help but realize the truth in their words; more and more of her time and energy these days are devoted to keeping the Vox Populi intact and to protecting the refugees as best as she can. And even worse, who's to say that her breaking this world's Elizabeth out of her cage in Comstock House's asylum is better for her than to simply stay safely there?

"Chin up." Rosalind glances over again, "I'm certain you'll make the best of it, and the girl will be better off for it."

"What's this? Careful, sister, or some may stop accusing you of being a fatalist."

"Hmph. It is simply an effort at seeing the upside to the situation." Rosalind puts her brush aside, lifting the canvas and turning it towards both Abigail and Robert, "Here's your portrait, dear brother."

Despite feeling a good measure of fatigue from dealing with the other faction leaders, Abigail can't help but smile as she looks upon Rosalind's painting, the raised eyebrow Robert's giving it not helping any; Rosalind has painted herself holding an apple up, and Abigail can't help but think there's some special meaning in her painting the fruit.

"I suppose turnabout is fair play, sister." Robert nods, and Abigail can't suppress the chuckle that escapes her.

"Thank ya', both of ya'." Once she's finished chuckling, Abigail grins up at the twins, the brother and sister Lutece now side by side with the painting and everything else nowhere in sight, "I needed a laugh. I… don't suppose you'll mind if I ask how they're doin'?"

"They are… well, now." Robert starts, seeming a touch reluctant.

"Now, yes. But a couple months ago, they were decidedly worse off." Rosalind continues, sounding the same as always.

"Huh?" Looking back and forth between both Robert and Rosalind, Abigail slowly rises to her feet, "What happened?"

"They were attacked by Splicers, the crazed citizens of Ra-"

"I know what a Splicer is, Robert." Her voice is soft, and Abigail's sure she'd be in quite a state if she hadn't already heard that Booker and Elizabeth are fine now. "But how?"

Robert blinks in surprise for a moment before nodding, continuing a moment later "Ah, that's it; you've memories of your other self. A most unlikable fellow by the name of Atlas had sent them through one of our devices."

"How the device was built and who directed Atlas to their world is another matter altogether, however." Rosalind adds, and Abigail can't help but feel like she's hiding something.

"Atlas, huh?" The name's familiar to Abigail, but what she knew for certain about the man doesn't amount to a whole lot; her elderly other self didn't pay much mind to the rabble rousers in Rapture. "I don't care how it was built, is it gonna happen again?"

"Unlikely, though it is a possibility." Abigail gives the brother Lutece a sharp look.

"The machine is damaged, but not destroyed. However, the civil war would make repairs nearly impossible at this point." Rosalind adds, though she glances at her brother when she's done.

"That's a relief…" dropping back onto her bed, Abigail heaves a sigh as she sits on the edge of her mattress, "Thanks for tellin' me… umm… I suppose I just gotta figure out who set Atlas on them." Looking up at the twins, Abigail gives the both of them a lopsided grin, "Care ta' fill me in, or are the two of ya' gonna keep it a secret?"

"We've no pressing need to." Though she looks the same as always, Abigail can't help but feel Rosalind's answer sounds a little off.

"You already know the culprit's identity." Rosalind makes a palm upwards gesture, "Knowing that, you should be able to determine who is responsible. Now, we must be off."

"Wait! I don't get…!" But the twins are already gone, and Abigail can only lie back on her bed, "Who could do all that? Someone who knows Rapture… someone who…"

Abigail's eyes begin to widen, the pieces coming together in her mind, "Who knows about Tears, an' about usin' a Lutece Device…" A grimace crosses Abigail's face, and she climbs under the covers slowly, "Son of a… Mercier, huh? Hell's bells… I'm not getting' any sleep now, am I?"

* * *

7:15 PM

A yawn escapes Abigail as she rests against the cargo barge's cabin wall, she leaving the flying to someone else for once and staying outside to enjoy the chilly night air. While it grows hot enough in the day to melt the snow left in winter's wake, at night Columbia is still quite cold out. But the wind on her face and the chill in the air help to keep Abigail awake and aware, the young redhead not getting a wink of sleep after the Luteces departed.

"Least this should be plain an' simple…" She and most of her squad are on one of their usual covert supply runs, delivering essentials to the refugees hiding near New Eden Square. She could've sent another squad tonight or just not have gone herself, but Abigail has a simple question for the refugees, so she decided to handle it herself. "Wonder how much longer they can last there… hell, wonder how much longer till the Founders find them."

One of the more recent military rulers, some Major something-or-other, had declared an edict stating that if any citizen of Columbia isn't assisting the Founders and rightful rulers of the city, then they're with those who'd see the Prophet's dream come to ruin. That hadn't inspired much patriotism in the refugees, and the roving Founder gunships didn't help that any.

"The next one put a stop to that fool's edict, but the damage was done. An' those gunships are still out there…" That's another worry for those on supply runs; encountering Founder ships, even though they're far from the front.

Another yawn escapes Abigail, and she rubs her bleary eyes, "Guh. Guess havin' ta' tinker with the ship before leavin' took a lot outta me…" The engine had been acting up, and while she's a fair mechanic, hovercrafts aren't exactly run of the mill pieces of machinery. Best she can do is make sure it's maintained, maybe fix a minor problem here and there; luckily, the problem was a minor one. "I think I'll just… close my eyes for a little while…"

"…"

"Abby?" A hand on her shoulder and a voice in her ear causes Abigail to open her tired eyes slowly, a groan escaping her.

"Ah, Viv… I was almost asleep…"

"Umm… Abby, we've arrived. We've been here for the past five minutes, actually."

"Wha…?" Scrambliing to her feet, Abigail finds they have indeed arrived, the now defaced statue of Comstock a dead giveaway; some damn fool had sent out groups on gunships and armed with Rocket Launchers and Hailfires to destroy every statue and likeness of the Prophet once Abigail and her squad returned with news of his death. Not a high point in relations with the refugees.

"We let you sleep. Even the officers over there didn't object." Vivian smiles as Abigail turns back to her, the redhead grinning sheepishly now, "Go on, you've got people to talk to, right?"

"Yeah…" Rubbing her eyes and shaking her head, Abigail shakily makes her way towards the gangplank, mentally kicking herself for falling asleep, "Stupid, Abigail… it's dangerous enough comin' out here without ya' noddin' off…"

At this point, the supply runs Abigail organized is a secret among some of her people, only those who can be trusted brought in on it, and only when more hands are needed. But if the more aggressive Vox factions were to find out, Abigail is sure the whole thing will blow up in her face.

Nodding absentmindedly at the police officers and refugees who'd come to receive their shipment of supplies, Abigail makes her way past the statue of Comstock and towards the Church without a second thought; though the Columbian police officers and the Vox Populi will never be on friendly terms, it has also been over half a year since they and the refugees have been receiving supplies from Abigail's people, and the coppers seem to at least tolerate her presence now. A marked improvement form before, when most of them would seem agitated whenever they saw her.

Stepping into the Church of Comstock, Abigail shudders yet again, despite all that's happened; even though the Prophet's dead, this place that bears his name is an uncomfortable reminder of his and the Founders' beliefs. "Ah, hell, get over it, lass…"

Inside, most of the decorations, be it plants, wall hangings or statues, have been removed for the sake of space, the green grass that had carpeted the place trampled underfoot and leaving hard-packed dirt in its place. Even the waters that had poured out of the Church proper's entrance had ceased, and the refugees have long since moved inside the main building. Still, even the massive church hadn't the room to accommodate everyone, and so quite a few still remain in the front part of the building.

"Least they put up those banners we brought 'em…" Looking up, Abigail breathes a quiet sigh; the crimson of the Vox Populi shields the former garden area from the sky, to keep other, less than friendly Vox from stumbling across the refugees.

"Abigail? I didn't expect to see you here today."

"I've a matter ta' speak ta' ya' about, Esther. Good ta' see you're doin' well." Abigail grins as lieutenant Esther Mailer steps through the rows of tents and cots; while what she'd thought of the police is equally true for their ranking officer here, she and Esther have managed to get along far better than the redhead had ever thought possible. Her smile shrinks a little as Esther approaches, Abigail thinking to herself, "Guess it is lonely bein' in charge, no matter where ya' are…"

"There's something I have to ask of you, as well." Esther comes to a stop before Abigail, the young woman looking the brunette up and down surreptitiously; she looks bedraggled, her jumpsuit faded and wearing a bit thin. And Esther's state isn't a singular one; all the refugees are looking that way, the former middle and upper-class of Columbia looking much like those who lived in Shantytown before the uprising. "Let's have a seat, there's still a bench near the back."

"Much obliged…" A yawn interrupts Abigail, and she finds herself smiling sheepishly once again as Esther chuckles, the police lieutenant leading the revolutionary through the maze of the refugees' 'homes'.

"We should be thanking you… though there's precious few under my command who'll admit it. Winter wasn't kind to us, but it could have been far worse…"

"It's nothing, Esther." Shaking her head, Abigail looks back at the people they passed, "Just stayin' true ta' what I learned from my Ma, an' a certain… fella with a complicated life an' a spirited lass of a daughter."

"I… don't quite get your meaning. But… did you ever find that girl you were looking for?"

"Ah…" Now Abigail's heart sinks, all the doubts she'd had before coming back to her, "Yes… but she's still trapped in her cage…"

"Shame." Esther shrugs as they reach the promised bench, Abigail sinking down onto the cold marble and resting her back against the wall. "Umm… Abigail… there's something I must ask of you. Can I trust you to give me the plain truth?"

"Huh?" Abigail glances back at Esther, wondering at her strange question, "I suppose… what's got ya' so worried?"

"We've heard rumors… and we can't be sure of anything, so far from anyone else… is…" Esther hesitates, and Abigail can almost hear her gulp in apprehension, "Is the Prophet dead?"

Abigail blinks in surprise; she'd thought the news of Comstock's demise had gotten around by now, "Don't ya' have a radio or somethin'? Wh are ya' askin' me?"

"We do, but we can't be sure what's propaganda or not…" Esther never takes her eyes from Abigail, her anxiety showing clear as day on her face, "And I'm asking you because you've proven to be of… uncommon character…"

"… ey, I'll take that as a compliment, I suppose. Umm… Esther... it's the truth. Comstock died in December." The lieutenant's anxiety gives way as Abigail speaks the words, and Esther looks like she's about to cry. Abigail can't bring herself to try and comfort the police lieutenant, though; the Prophet was a monster, and Abigail won't have anything to do with another's grieving for Comstock. But to her credit, Esther manages to keep the tears at bay, pulling herself up straight.

"H-How?" There's still a quaver in her voice, Esther visibly trying to keep her composure, "Was it… your people?"

"It wasn't us, though plenty of Vox were meanin' ta' do just that." Shaking her head, Abigail runs her fingers through her long, loose red hair as she takes a deep breath, "It was the False Shepherd an' the Lamb's hands that done it… but it was my squad who found him, after they left."

"The… the Lamb?" Esther seems to sag against the wall once Abigail's finished, her expression one of someone whose whole world was taken out from under them; the young redhead can relate, having experienced such a thing herself. It takes a while for Esther to recover, Abigail sitting beside the bedraggled woman for a good ten minutes before she can say anything. "I suppose it's best we know the truth…" Esther's voice starts quiet, but slowly begins to return to normal as she goes on, "What… what did you need to speak with me about?"

"Oh, umm… now that it is spring, that means plantin' season, an' we could use all the help we can get. My people tend ta' Arboria on our own, so it should be safe for any of ya' who wouldn't mind helpin'…" A chuckle comes from Esther, and she gives Abigail a small nod.

"I'll… I'll ask around…"

* * *

**Author's Note: So not much happened in this chapter, just some more about the state of Columbia after the events of Infinite; the Founders are pushing the Vox harder than ever while trying to find someone to take Comstock's place, the Vox Populi are still divided, and the city's slowly falling apart from both the war and the lack of maintenance. How long do you suppose a city like Columbia could last if there's no food being produced, and all the assorted sundries needed?**

**I hope you enjoyed the chapter, and thanks for reading.**


	12. Into The Monster's Lair

**Foreword: Found a discrepancy in Abigail's description, a really old one in Unbroken; added a bit to the chapter to explain why her eyes are green, not blue.**

* * *

August 21, 1913, 5:15 PM

"Hmm…"

Abigail reluctantly opens her eye as she feels something tiny tickling at her ear, she finding it's just a long strand of grass when she brushes her gloved hand against it. "Annoyin' little…" A yawn interrupts Abigail, and she leaves the sentiment unfinished, instead spreading her arms wide and stretching before letting her body go limp.

The redhead lies in a field of tall, wild grass, Abigail relaxing and staring up at the azure sky, though the slightly cloudy expanse overhead is slowly turning into fiery shades of crimson and orange as the sun continues its descent to the horizon. Her long, loose hair rests beneath her, acting as a sort of blanket and keeping at least some of the swaying blades and strands from bothering her. She barely does more than languidly closes her eyes, enjoying the breeze on her face.

It's nearly the end of summer, and that means one thing; harvest time, at least for this season's crop. Fields of cornstalks sway in the late afternoon breeze, a wall of shifting green leaves, stalks and brown fuzz in the next field over, and Abigail's amazed her people could even get this much grown amid the chaos; aside from the corn, the volunteers had somehow managed to grow wheat, beans and tomatoes as well. The field Abigail lies in rests near the edge of Arboria and not far from the areas barn and stores, and has been left fallow this season.

In the distance, Abigail can hear a number of voices; work should be just about done for the day, and the refugees who'd volunteered to help will be needing transport home soon. Of course, there's tension between the refugees and the Vox who tend the fields, Abigail having no illusions about that; but it's in everyone's best interest to work together, and the young redhead's seen a couple olive branches being offered, by both sides.

"Ah…" Breathing a sigh, Abigail speaks to no one in particular, her voice quiet as she wonders, "Is this really… am I doing the right thing?" A frown touches her lips as her doubts begin to mount again; she'd come here to relax and put her mind at ease, not to worry herself over what she'd started and couldn't stop even if she wanted to. Instead, she breathes in deeply, breathing in the smell of the grass and fresh crops, free of the soot and smoke that fills the air and clings to everything in the factory.

The hour draws near, and Abigail's apprehension grows the closer it gets; even this peaceful place does little to help with that. "Took six months of convincin', an' now I'm frettin' like a mother hen…" A scowl touches her features, if only for a moment. It's her own plan that's got Abigail in knots; she'd finally managed to persuade the other Vox leaders of the necessity of her plan.

They're all usually plenty eager to fight, with or without any support, but the lot of them had been a little gun-shy about attacking Comstock House; they remember how the attack on the Hand of the Prophet went, and the shift in power that followed. She'd argued that because it's the Founder headquarters and their most important stronghold, they needed to strike; without their base, the Founder forces will be thrown into disarray. Even if they can only damage the infrastructure and take out a few high-ranking officers, the disruption will give the Vox an advantage.

All of her arguments were sound, and Abigail wasn't being false about any of them, but she still feels a little bit guilty; naturally, she hadn't said a word about her true purpose for organizing and taking part in this assault.

"I wonder…" Closing her green eyes, Abigail feels a grimace coming on, "I wonder if Elizabeth's still sleepin' in that hall of horrors…" The grimace only deepens as she recalls that bird creature in the cell, how it screeched and cawed like the birds her Murder of Crows Vigor summons. Who knows what else is kept in that place? "Been over a year now, since the lass has been locked up in that cage…" She dearly hopes the Founders have yet to find out about Elizabeth.

Abigail's suddenly reminded of fairy tales her mother had told her as a child, the thought bringing a touch of a smile to her lips, "A sleepin' princess locked away an' guarded by monsters, huh?"

But the grin doesn't last, fading away in an instant; this isn't some fairytale, and Abigail's plan will be the cause of some very real deaths. Committing such a large number of Vox soldiers to attack Comstock House, Abigail has to question whether risking so many to save Elizabeth is justified. No matter how much she'd like to think so, that's a lot of weight on her shoulders.

"If I could manage with just me… or even with just my squad…"

Abigail sits up quickly and shakes her head, trying to push her doubts aside; thinking like that will only serve to shake her resolve, and build up on itself until she's a nervous wreck. Not the sort of mindset she wants to be in when entering a warzone. "It's goin' ta' happen one way or the other now, so buck up an' beat yourself up over it in the mornin'…"

The other Vox factions are all preparing for the attack, so it truly is out of her hands now; the fools were getting their people's blood up when she'd left the factory earlier, and from how the rest of the Vox Populi was getting whipped up into a frenzy, Abigail doubts her people backing out of the attack would stop a thing. Rather, it's likely to just cause more deaths.

"None of my people workin' the fields will be goin', that's for damn sure." It's a small comfort, and something she needn't even bring up with the other faction leaders; Arboria's under her group's control, after all, and all the Vox who tend the fields here are comrades of hers. Aside from being somewhere between worn out and exhausted, their fight is less with the Founders now and more with starvation.

Climbing to her feet, Abigail brushes grass from the rest of her as she starts towards the barn and the gathering of workers; it's a good long walk, the young Vox unable to tell one person from the next at this distance. Instead, she idly casts her gaze around the field, spying treetops in the distance peeking over the tassels of the corn stalks.

Arboria is divided into three large chunks of land, each a separate floating island on their own and connected via bridges and pipes. The farmland, with its fields of corn and other summer crops, is the largest of the three, though only just barely; the second largest had been used for raising livestock, much of the meat, poultry and milk the citizens of Columbia consumed coming from there. And the treetops Abigail saw in the distance are on the third island, and by far the smallest of the three.

However, the other two chunks of land are barely of any concern to the Vox Populi, though not for lack of trying; only a handful of workers are on the second island at all.

"Can't tell if it's a blessin' or a curse that all the farm animals are gone… it's a miracle that my people have grown this many crops, can't imagine havin' ta' care for cows an' pigs would have helped 'em any…" Abigail sighs as she turns her gaze forward; when her people had secured Arboria, they didn't find many of the farm animals alive; most likely, hungry soldiers or civilians had butchered them for their meat when food started growing scarce.

According to the soldiers who'd gone to the ranches, the rotting stench was enough to make the hardiest of men keel over. They've only a handful of cows in the barn nearest to the bridge between the farmland and ranches, and the volunteers caring for them have yet to figure out how they're going to manage, aside from occasionally milking the animals.

"An' we don't touch that forest up there…" Abigail glances back at the treetops, shaking her head slowly; the place isn't meant for lumber or anything of the like, but rather is more of an attraction for the 'good' people of Columbia to visit and enjoy a bit of nature. Of course, no colored or Irish were allowed, aside from those who worked there. "Reminds me of someplace… that the other 'me' knew…"

Turning her thoughts from Arboria, Abigail's heart sinks as she goes; when she leaves this farmland, Abigail will be leaving this peaceful atmosphere for one of blood and fire. The young redhead tries to put it from her mind, but it lingers as she draws closer to the crowd and her departure, and the long walk it takes for Abigail to get back gives her nerves plenty of time to torment her.

Instead, Abigail takes to humming the old folk song she'd sung back in Emporia, the upbeat tune helping in some small measure; she'd try Elizabeth's song again, but even though she can get the tune and the words right, it always feels like something vital is missing.

But a different tune perks up her ears, Abigail able to make out the sound of a flute and fiddle amongst the rhythm of clapping. A lilting singing voice chimes in, coming and going with the wind and drawing Abigail forward. The music helps Abigail to pick up her feet, the redhead hurrying now rather than reluctantly, lazily trudging along.

The song becomes clearer as Abigail approaches the clustered workers, and it draws a small smile across the young redhead's lips as she slips through the crowd; at the center of the crowd is a small, circular clearing and a group of Irishman in the middle of it. Three of them are playing instruments, a rough-looking guitar, a well-worn fiddle and an old tin flute, the singer clapping in time with the beat while the crowd follows suit.

_"One two three four five. Hunt the hare an' turn her down the rocky road,_

_An' all the way to Dublin, whack-follal-de-dah!"_

All four sing the chorus as one, the one playing the tin flute stopping to do so and even a few of the onlookers joining in. And as Abigail looks around from her place just outside the front row, she sees several of the refugees among the crowd, the sight of them joining in only serving to widen her smile.

_"In Dublin next arrived, I thought it such a pity…"_

"To be soon deprived a view of that fine city…" Abigail whispers the next line, the song bringing back memories of a different sort; it's another traditional Irish folksong, one that her Ma had taught her when she was still a little lass. But her oldest recollection of the song was one of her father, singing it while having an after work pint. And singing it badly, at that.

Despite the hard feelings she has for her father, the song has most certainly lifted Abigail's spirits, along with everyone else who's listening, Vox and refugees alike.

Slipping between a pair of shorter Vox, Abigail waits for the next chorus to end as she stands in the front row and claps along, a mischievous smile touching her lips. Once the chorus comes and goes, Abigail takes a deep breath before joining in.

_"From there I got away, me spirits never failin',_

_Landed on the quay, just as the ship was sailin'…"_

The performers greet her with good cheer, not stopping for a moment, Abigail and the singer finishing the verse in tandem; it's no practiced or perfected performance, the two of them making many a mistake, but the crowd doesn't seem to care. And Abigail doesn't stop, though she takes a breath and lets the performers run through the first several lines of the final verse before jumping back in.

_"With a loud "hurray!" joined in the fray, we quite cleared the way for the rocky road to Dublin._

_One two three four five. Hunt the hare and turn her down, _

_The rocky road and all the way to Dublin, whack follol de dah!"_

The performers run through the final verse and the chorus again, but Abigail simply backs away from the circle and through the crowd; she'd spied her squad's cargo barge flying past from the corner of her eye. Breathing a sigh, the redhead turns towards the loading dock; the time's come to leave.

* * *

Abigail stands at the bow of the cargo barge as it flies through the night sky, the vessel using the clouds for cover as much as possible. She's started humming the same tune from Arboria, though it's anything but merry, and neither is she.

In the distance lies the reason for Abigail's grim countenance; Comstock House, just as imposing as the last time Abigail had broken into the place and in the memories Booker had left her. There's just something sinister about the towering building, aside from the fact that it is the headquarters for the Founders and the home of the now long dead Prophet. Spotlights search the night sky, lighting up the building's façade, and they're as deadly to Abigail's mission as a Handyman in close quarters.

The redhead isn't alone at the bow, and neither is her cargo barge as it slips quietly through the night; her squad is with her, Vivian and Yoshiro standing close behind, and a dozen gunships bearing the crimson of the Vox Populi fly in close formation.

"They should be making their move soon… I hope." Vivian's voice is quiet, Abigail turning back to her friend to see the worry in her soft brown eyes. Yoshiro just nods curtly, the older Japanese solider just as taciturn as ever. And Abigail frowns at the mention of the others.

"More who's blood might be on my hands tonight…"

Comstock House is a fortress, no two ways about it; aside from the standing garrison and a comparably small complement of soldiers, the Founders' headquarters and seat of power is now protected by multiple newly installed heavy rocket and mortar batteries. The only thing that Abigail can think of that could attack this fortress on its own would be the long gone Songbird. And it might have, given what happened to his Elizabeth, but the Founders and Comstock had that damn song to keep him at bay. And Abigail's certain it came to that.

"Even if every Vox soldier attacked it, I doubt we could cause a dent…" Turning back to their destination, Abigail bites her lip as she thinks to herself, "That's why we'll be needin' a distraction…" And it's that distraction that has her worried.

Another pair of Vox Populi forces will be launching attacks on the Founders' holdings, one aimed at taking back at Emporia while the other will be assaulting a Founder base in a nearby district. Of course, the heaviest fighting is expected to be in Emporia, so that force was planned to be at two hundred strong.

The truth is, both attacks are intended as feints, with an emphasis on minimizing casualties, but there's nothing to say that either force will be successful in distracting the Founders or escaping without a good deal of casualties. And that doesn't even begin to address the fact that many of those Vox soldiers are just the same as they were in the beginning of the Vox Populi uprising; violent, bloodthirsty, brutal and cruel.

"It won't be matterin' if the attacks are real or not, the Founder bullets are…" Breathing a worried sigh, Abigail shifts the straps on her shoulders, one holding her sword and sheathe to her back and another pair doing the same with a small pack. The purpose of the feints are simple; hopefully, the two-pronged attack will draw Founder forces away from Comstock House, at least long enough to give the main Vox force a chance.

"Heh… Booker an' Elizabeth managed that all on their own… without any help at all…"

"Abigail? What does that mean?" Yoshiro's heavily accented voice shakes Abigail from her musings, and she turns to find him looking at her oddly; she knows the old soldier is one of many who hold a grudge against the Lamb for what happened to Daisy.

"… the False Shepherd an' the Lamb. They fought through Comstock House without a lick of help." Yoshiro just stares back at her, and Abigail turns her attention back to their destination.

Now all the can do is wait. Sean seems especially nervous, the young man fiddling with his Repeater while ignoring everything else, even the weight he has strapped to his own back. Abigail's not sure how Wei and Mattie are holding up, though; both are in the barge's pilot cabin, their Chinese medic having learned to fly this thing recently.

"At least we're approachin' from the backside of Comstock House…" Muttering to herself, Abigail tries to peer through the darkness; the signal to move in is simply activity in Emporia, yet she can barely see the district through the gloom. All she can do is fall silently while they wait, nerves starting to get to the young redhead.

A flash of light flares up in Emporia several minutes later; a fireball bursts to life amid the streets and lights up the ruined, abandoned buildings. Then another, and another. Abigail and her squad are too far from the district to make out the report of gunfire, but it's plain to see; the Vox Populi have begun their attack.

And yet, they have to wait, the hovercraft slowing from a crawl to a stop; going in now would certainly land them in the middle of Founder soldiers, moving to reinforce the forces in Emporia. Abigail knows this, and yet she has to take a long, deep breath to steady herself; the tension is growing with each passing second. "Take your positions…" Motioning to back up as she whispers, Abigail steps away from the bow, Vivian and Yoshiro doing the same; they're just asking to fall off if they go into combat while standing unsecured at the edge.

Moving to the center of the barge's wide deck, Abigail breathes a quiet sigh as she runs her ungloved left hand down the back of her head; her hair is tied up in a tight braid, Abigail not wanting it to get in her eyes when she has need to fight. "'When', eh? Not 'if'… not today."

That thought draws another sigh; in the end, it's going to be just Abigail and her squad mates, fighting through to the asylum wing where the unconscious Elizabeth is being held. At least she's ready for it; Abigail's armed with her Hand Cannon along with her sword, as usual, the weapon in its customary place and she having brought along plenty of extra ammunition.

Time passes even slower than Abigail had expected, she watching a time piece she'd brought along, a strange mix of anticipation and dread building with every passing minute. Finally, she can take no more as the tenth minute passes, "Dammit… alright! We've waited long enough; let's go, carefully!" The light from the hovercraft's engines will give them away soon enough, best get close as possible.

The cargo barge and the dozen gunships bearing Vox colors advance slowly, and as silently as possible; the only sound to be heard is the drone of the hovercrafts' engines as it fills the air. For a moment, Abigail allows herself to hope that they might actually pull it off, getting to Comstock House unseen; she holds her breath as the massive building looms overhead, the barge and gunships slowly starting to ascend.

A wailing alarm pierces the nearly silent night, Abigail whipping around in search of the source. "Hell's bells… Wei, move it!" Cursing beneath her breath, Abigail shouts back at the cabin; a searchlight had caught one of the trailing gunships, the other beams quickly converging on them as she speaks.

The cargo barge surges up and ahead a split-second later, Abigail and her squad nearly thrown off their feet by the sudden burst of speed. And all around them, the Vox gunships fly past, the smaller hovercrafts both a good deal faster and much more agile than their sluggish barge.

Loud, thumping sounds reverberate from above a minute later, Abigail and the others looking skyward, the redhead's green eyes going wide; flaming shells rain down from above, a mortar battery having opened fire at the small fleet of Vox hovercrafts as they approach the roof of Comstock House. The Vox Populi soldiers aboard gunships that make the roof jump off the moment they can and scramble for cover from the raining explosives.

But not all of the gunships make it; several shells crash into one of the hovercraft just as it makes it to the edge of the roof, explosions rocking the ships near it and nearly tearing it apart. The flaming wreckage slams into the roof and slides a dozen feet before coming to a halt, only stopping the fight between the Vox and the newly arrived Founder soldiers for a moment.

"Ah, hell!" Hissing as another mortar glances off the nearest gunship, Abigail waves back at the cabin, "Go, go!"

The barge veers to the left, pulling away from the roof and quickly circling around the left spire. The rest of the Vox are too busy fighting to notice, and Abigail silently wishes them luck as their craft pulls out of sight; her squad won't be using the roof. "Take her down, Wei…"

The medic swings the barge around the side of Comstock House as it descends. And this is where Abigail feels another twinge of guilt; the rest of the assault force is on their own, while Abigail and her people fight her own personal battle. The great metal double doors of Comstock House come into sight a moment later.

The hovercraft pulls as close to the stone floor as Wei dares, and Abigail turns to the Chinese medic as he steps out of the cabin, "Wei, bring the barge back 'round in ten minutes, then every five after."

"You got it." Wei nods; she'd asked him to stay with the ship, she needing someone to keep the barge safe when they return. They'll need a quick escape when they come running through these doors again. "Try not to bring too many 'friends' when you come running back."

Abigail grins as she steps to the edge of the deck, and she jumps off the barge a moment later, rolling the moment she hits the stone tile to break her fall. The rest of her squad follows shortly after, and Abigail peers up at Comstock House, the gnawing sense of dread coming back to her.

"Abby… you sure about this?" Vivian puts a hand on her shoulder as the barge flies off, Abigail only nodding slowly; they stand at the main entrance to Comstock House, statues of the Founding Fathers lining either side of the walkway and a grand wooden staircase ahead of them, a short break in the steps about halfway up.

"Sean… care ta' 'knock'?"

"Ya' bet I do!" The brown-haired kid nods with a smile and unslings his newest 'toy'; a Barnstormer RPG. The first rocket slams dead center into the entrance, the explosion warping the metal and causing the double doors to buckle inward, whatever lock is holding the thing in place straining to keep it closed. But the second blows the doors wide open, the metal banging against the walls inside.

Inside appears deserted, Abigail leading her squad through a stone hallway with many burned out candles lining alcoves along the way; another pair of double doors stand at the far end of the hallway, these made of the usual wood.

"Whoa…" Sean and Mattie let out a low, awed breath, and Abigail can only nod slowly. Stepping through the doors, the redhead and her squad find themselves in a cavernous room made of the same stone bricks as the hallway before, six columns rising up to the roof only to form archways with their opposite. Four windows many times larger than a man line the sides of the room, only barely visible behind great tapestries depicting Founder ideology, and a monument to Comstock rises up to the ceiling in the back of the room.

"Ugh…" Abigail suddenly feel lightheaded, the sight of Comstock brandishing a sword, not so different from the statue that once stood at New Eden Square, bringing back memories of Booker's. And she recalls his panic, just as potent as the first time she'd felt it.

"Abby? You…" Abigail just waves Vivian off, she cradling her forehead and shaking her head to dispel the memories. The statue that stood in Comstock's place in the future especially leaves her shaken, the sight of Elizabeth bearing the sword instead of the Prophet more than a little worrisome.

"Let's just… just go. Yoshiro, you an' me are up front…" Advancing towards the stairs that circle around either side of the Comstock statue, Abigail takes point while Yoshiro follows close behind, Vivian and Mattie in the back while Sean takes the center. But even as they go, Abigail keeps getting flashes of the frozen prison Booker had fought through and she'd visited.

The room beyond the monument to Comstock sends a chill down her spine; windows line the room to the left and right, a series of circular columns standing near the center of the room, where steps lead down into a depression. And in the center of that depression stands the elevator that leads up to the asylum proper, and Abigail knows the barred door that would have led to the elderly Elizabeth lies beyond it. And Abigail recalls the… thing, with the brass helmet with a mouth shaped as if screaming and the pair of horns sticking out the side, the memory terrifying her.

"Least the door's open." Slipping around the elevator, Abigail finds wooden double doors there in place of the barred and locked gate she recalls, the right side hanging ajar. "C'mon…" Waving her squad forward, Abigail steps through as she gives silent thanks that she needn't take the elevator up yet. She'd learned of a floor plan for the first two floors, and she'd much prefer not having to go up to the main asylum floors.

The hallway beyond is much like the memories of Booker's had showed her, though the window at the elevated end of the hall is blown out, the curtains ragged, and furnishings are left scattered on the floor and on the steps. "Alright…" Abigail takes a deep breath, glancing around as she reaches into her pack and withdraws her makeshift map. "To the right's… the operating theater…" she shakes her head violently, instead glancing down the hall, "an' the two doors at the end… leads ta' hallways and stairwells…" That's her next destination, and Abigail quickly advances down the hallway with the rest of her squad close behind, her Hand Cannon drawn and at the ready.

The hallway they're in is paneled in the usual rich wood typical of upper class homes in Emporia, and the door Abigail opens leads to a similarly lavish hall, this one stretching far; it leads to the spire opposite the one Wei had swung them around on their approach. But that's not what she's looking for; an elevator and stairwell are set into the wall on the left, no more than thirty feet from the door. "Nobody's here," glancing back over her shoulder, Abigail whispers despite her assertion, "let's get goin'…"

She leads her squad towards the stairwell, Abigail wanting to avoid elevators as much as possible. And they're almost there when the sounds of footsteps echo down the stairwell, Abigail and her squad coming face to face with half a dozen Founder soldiers. Both sides stare at each other in shocked silence, if only for a moment.

"Move!" Vivian pushes past Abigail and Yoshiro, casting her left hand out as her skin appears to crack and glow, a wave of yellow light pulsing out from her and launching several of the soldiers into the air. And that ends the shocked moment, the Founder soldiers caught in the grip of Bucking Bronco screaming while the rest scramble to bring their weapons to bear.

"No." A blur passes between Abigail and Vivian, the distinctive sound of a blade clearing sheathe sounding a half second before one of the soldiers screams; Yoshiro slammed through their numbers and cut one of them in half, his blade working well with Charge. Two more fall in rapid succession as he scythes his weapon through them, leaving only the handful still held by Bucking Bronco alive.

"No guns!" Hissing as she breaks into a run, Abigail closes the gap with the remaining soldiers, Vivian close behind; one gunshot, and anyone on this or the next floor will know they're here. It doesn't take long to dispatch the incapacitated soldiers, Vivian using the butt of her Hand Cannon while Abigail draws her own blade.

"Someone's bound ta' find this…" Sean looks like he's about to be sick as he steps up to the stairs, Mattie stepping up beside him and nodding slowly.

"Don't have much choice. Let's hurry." Abigail simply turns and climbs up the stairs, sheathing her sword after cleaning it off and drawing her Hand Cannon once more. Yoshiro and Vivian follow close behind, though Mattie and Sean hesitate for a moment.

Once up the stairs, it doesn't take them long to find the sealed off wing of the asylum, Abigail recognizing the shadowy hallway the moment she peers down it, the elaborately decorated door at the end of the hall and the elevator doors giving it away. "Listen… keep well away from the doors. Don't ya' dare try ta' sneak a peek; trust me, it ain't pretty."

The others nod slowly, and Abigail slowly starts creeping down the hall towards Elizabeth's gilded cage. But a strange sound fills the poorly lit corridor as they approach the halfway point; a sound like rusty metal on metal, quickly turning into a squeal that ends in a heavy 'clunk'.

"Oh… oh no…" Abigail manages to whisper just as she turns her gaze to one of the nearby security doors. Her eyes go wide as it sluggishly swings open, just one of a handful of doors; a mottled, slick-looking 'hand' appears, two long tendril-like fingers gripping the side of the door, octopus-like suckers clinging to the metal. A cold knot forms in the pit of Abigail's stomach, "Monsters, huh…?"

* * *

**Author's Note: And here we go, a look at Arboria and Abigail returning to a much more dangerous Comstock House to rescue Elizabeth. Some of the recent chapters have been more of a 'how life could go on in war-torn Columbia', and we're finally back to some action. I wonder, how many of you figured something like this would happen when I described the first 'Vigor test subject'? **

**Now, a couple things I'd like to mention; the snippets of the song I wrote into the first part is called 'The Rocky Road To Dublin', and I had to use a more contemporary version of the song. I couldn't find a performance of the version penned before 1912. As for the mortars on Comstock House, I figured that, at this point in the war, the Founders would most likely fortify Comstock House with the biggest guns they could, and the huge, multi-barreled mortar/rockets from the Bull House in Shantytown felt like a good example of that, if not exactly the same.**

**I'll be making checks for grammar and the like at a later date; I didn't have time before posting to clean the chapter up as much as I usually do. Thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoyed the chapter. Now, how do you think the doors in the asylum wing were opened, and what do you think will be stepping out of those doors?**


	13. A Princess In Another Castle

**For new readers, this story is based off of and is tied into several other pieces of mine. If you're not sure where to start, I'd suggest finding Bioshock Infinite: Unbroken, as well as its prequel Unbroken: Song of Sorrow and the continuation Unbroken: I'm Home. Thanks for checking it out.**

**Foreword: Due to technical difficulties, namely spotty internet connection and an overheating computer, this chapter was unavoidably delayed. Sorry for the delay.**

* * *

"Oh my God…"

A horrified grimace twists Abigail's features as the thing sluggishly shambles into the corridor, she barely hearing Vivian's whispered voice as the wet, slopping sound the monster's footsteps make fill her ears.

The redhead knew coming in that there are horrors behind each and every one of these doors, but simply knowing that is one thing, and coming face to face with it is another; Abigail's young mind has difficulty comprehending what she's seeing as the thing leaves its cage. "How does this… what is this?!" Abigail recoils at the stomach turning sight of the creature, its body just now appearing from behind the metal security door.

And her squad is faring even worse than she is, if the disgusted gasps she's hearing from behind her and the look of fearful disbelief she catches on Vivian's expression is any indication. While it hadn't helped overly much, Abigail's squad mates lack the buffer of having encountered one like this before and knowing what awaited them. Glancing back, Abigail finds Mattie and Sean backing away slowly and shaking their heads at the sight.

"Least Viv an' Yoshiro's holdin' their ground…" Abigail focuses on the creature again after giving her friend and the old soldier a quick glance each. She's silently glad they've both had soldiering experience; Vivian's trembling a little but looks to be in control, and Yoshiro's shotgun is pointed at the creature without wavering, though his usually stern face shows a touch of confusion.

Abigail has to struggle to find anything in the creature as it becomes fully revealed that could suggest it was once ever human; its entire body is misshapen, looking less like a man and more like some sort of deep sea monstrosity, the sort that never sees the light of day. "Course… I wouldn't know what that's like…" Grimacing as she thinks it, Abigail shakes her head slowly; living in Columbia, one doesn't get much chance to see the ocean. There's nothing about the creature that would give Abigail any reason to think that it was anything but a monster cooked up by some madman's fevered nightmares, even the creature's eyes are misshapen, sunken, almost vertical slits.

The first thing Abigail's eyes were drawn to is the monster's arms. The limbs are impossibly long and thick, nearly coming down to the creature's knees with three tentacles sprouting from a small 'hand', curving like thick, slime-covered fingers and touching the floor. Suckers line each 'finger' and climb up the thing's arms, and water or something like it constantly flows down its body, leaving puddles where it steps and dripping from everywhere else.

The torso is hunched over, its spine visibly pushing through the skin of its back, and the creature's legs aren't dissimilar from its arms; they're also long and muscular, though these limbs have recognizable joints and end in narrow points, Abigail sure the creature's putting more of its weight on its arms than those tiny stumps. The thing is also completely hairless, and its gaping maw has no lips, just exposed gums and vicious, jagged teeth. The thing's mottled white, gray and bluish tinged skin brings to mind someone with sickness and fever.

And to make matters worse, the monster isn't alone; Abigail's breath catches in her throat as the sound of flapping wings and angry caws comes from another open door, and the thing with black, hooked claws and clumps of black feathers she'd seen last time stepping out with a dozen crows circling it. And Abigail shudders as it affixes its gaze on her, the mostly black with brown eyes filled with hate.

"Ah! Get away!"

Mattie's cry pulls Abigail's gaze from the tentacle creature and birdman, though she doesn't dare turn completely away from either of them. She can only spare a moment to look back over her shoulder, and Abigail's jaw tenses as she lays eyes on two more of the creatures.

The first is face to face with Mattie, though 'face' may be the wrong word; it's a burning, blackened, crumbling and reforming thing in the shape of a man, no face to speak of, yet it still manages to let loose an anguished moan. The second appears much like any worker from the factories, aside from the insane gleam in its eyes and one other, tiny detail; his body is covered in cracks which leak golden light, parts of him floating free of his body like a thin shell.

"Buckin' Bronco, Devil's Kiss…" Thinking to herself, Abigail slowly turns back to the first pair, "Undertow an' Murder of Crows. Hell's bells, this ain't goin' ta' be easy…" The slime-covered creature starts shuffling towards her, and Abigail raises her Hand Cannon, "Get re-grk!"

The tentacle horror lashes out the moment she speaks, the 'fingers' on one hand uncurling and whipping towards Abigail, two knocking Yoshiro away while the third snakes around her throat.

Gunfire and twisted, disturbed screams erupt in the dark, dusty asylum wing, hoots, shouts and cries of all sorts coming from the other cells, the monsters within stirred up by the commotion. While the fighting surrounds her, Abigail can only struggle against the tentacle wrapped around her throat while the other two begin encircling her arms, the slime-coated limbs trying to render her helpless. And no matter how hard she fights, Abigail's being dragged closer and closer to the slick, octopus-like monster, the young redhead gritting her teeth as she finds it's getting harder and harder to breathe.

"Get off me, ya' ugly son of a-!" A pained cry comes from Mattie as Abigail manages a curse, the young redhead managing to look back to see the flaming monster rake its fingers down the girl's arm. "C'mon… fight, damn you!"

Cursing again as loudly as she can, Abigail starts yanking her arms as hard as she can, dislodging the tentacle enough to bring her Hand Cannon to bear, "Have some of this, ya' squishy squid-thing!" The triple report of her revolver washes over Abigail, a triumphant smile appearing as her shots punch into the creature's chest. But the beast just howls as black ichor spews from the wounds, and the tentacled creature heaves forward, the momentary slack causing Abigail to nearly fall back; a jet of water erupts from its mouth, striking Abigail's hand with enough force to knock her weapon away and drawing a cry from her.

A mix of anger and panic surges up within Abigail, the tentacles tightening around her again and holding her fast; it's plain to see what's going to happen, the monster's gnashing jaws waiting for her. And the redhead starts thrashing, fighting to get free or at least bring her hand up, Murder of Crows coming to her fingertips, "Ain't goin' out like this, ya' here me, ya' bastard?!"

Then there's a flash of motion and a rush of wind, and Abigail's suddenly falling back; the tentacles are still wrapped around her, but all three have severed, black blood spraying on the floor where they writhe. It takes the young Vox a second to realize what happened; Yoshiro's standing over her with his blade, the old soldier having just used his Charge Vigor, the man bringing his Chinabroom Shtogun to bear as he fires into the beast. The blast knocks the monster back, but it takes two more to make it drop.

Looking around as she pulls the tentacles off of her, Abigail grimaces as she sees everyone else fighting one of the monsters; Vivian's facing the birdman and fending off the crows, Sean is struggling to put a dent in the cracked, rumbling creature's body, and Mattie's just trying to stay out of the flaming monster's reach.

"Yoshiro! Go help Sean an' Mattie!" Grabbing her gun, Abigail lurches to her feet and runs for Vivian and the bird creature, the pair a little farther down the hall. Her friend keeps backing away and firing, but her bullets just don't seem to find purchase. "Hey! Remember me?!"

The hateful bird creature turns as she yells, Abigail skidding to a halt at the edge of the crow swarm, snapping her Hand Cannon up and firing before the last word even leaves her mouth. But the birdman just stares at her with its hateful gaze, vanishing into the murder of crows as the bullet passes harmlessly. "Just like one of those damn Crows… ah, hell's bells…"

Abigail's eyes dart over to her friend as the creature reappears and advances on her; Vivian's scratched up plenty but otherwise seems alright, but she looks plenty relieved that the flapping wings and screeching birds aren't hounding her anymore. But now Abigail has to contend with the crows instead, cawing beaks and wicked talons quickly giving her a small collection of cuts herself as she fires again. But the Vigor test subject just vanishes whenever a bullet makes it past the birds.

"Come on!" Growling under her breath, Abigail tries to protect her face while reloading, "Viv! Just keep shootin! I'm goin' ta' try getting' close!"

"Okay!" The report of Vivian's Hand Cannon rises over the shrieking birds, Abigail firing as well while running, the two of them slowly thinning out the murder of crows.

"Abby, look out!" Sean's voice comes from behind, and Abigail barely catches something flying past from the corner of her eye; a flaming orb bounces near the bird creature, and it takes her a second to process what she's seeing.

"Devil's Kiss…? No!" The orb detonates next to the Murder of Crows test subject, drawing a howl from the monster. But there's a catch; all the circling, clawing crows are now shrieking in pain, each and every bird set on fire. "It burns!" Abigail cries out, the flames drawing pain across her features as her situation decidedly worsens, and she fires at the scorched bird creature in the desperate hope that this'll end it.

Some of her bullets find the flaming crows, some fly wide, but by some small miracle, the last finds its way into the monster's stomach, the cloud of black birds suddenly thinning as it shrieks. And Abigail dashes through the birds as the flames lick at her, her Hand Cannon going 'click' before she drops it and reaches for her sword, she barely hearing the rasping of the sword being pulled free or Vivian shouting for her to get away from it. All she can hear is the shrieks of the crows and the blood hammering in her ears.

She barely feels any resistance at all as she swings, the bird creature dropping to the floor with a 'thump' and the crows disperse the moment she makes contact. A second 'thump' sounds a moment later, and Abigail finds her gaze drawn down to look at her feet and into those hateful brown and black eyes. A shudder runs through her body as she kicks it away.

"Viv… are you al-gah!"

Something slams into the pecked, clawed and singed Abigail's chest, launching her towards the wall. She only just makes out the sucker-laden tentacle pulling away from her, the tentacle creature rising from the floor despite missing most of one hand and bleeding from several gaping chest wounds.

And then Abigail crashes hard into a security door, her head snapping back and slamming the back of her skull against the unyielding metal. She very nearly blacks out on impact, only the urgency of her situation and adrenaline pumping through her veins barely keeping Abigail conscious, but the blow to the head still throws her for a loop; the redhead's practically seeing stars, her vision swimming and her thoughts disjointed.

"Come on, Abby…" It's an effort to form the thought and even more so to speak, Abigail gritting her teeth as she tries to climb to her feet. She's still plenty woozy though, and for a second she thinks she can hear a voice, whispering to her from beyond the door.

"Huh," pushing against the security door to rise, Abigail's unfocused green eyes wander over to her left, "there's that elevator…" But it's all too much; Abigail's legs give out beneath her, and the redhead blacks out as she slumps forward. The last thing she sees is Vivian lifting the tentacle horror into the air with her Vigor, Bucking Bronco immobilizing the monster as she fires into it over and over.

* * *

"Abby… Abby! Abigail, wake up!"

Abigail's eyelids flutter open as a voice shouts her name, a pained moan slipping past her lips; the back of her head aches something fierce, and her chest feels like someone tried to cave it in with a sledgehammer. The redhead's eyes slowly come into focus as she sluggishly blinks; Abigail doesn't know how she got this way, but she's lying on her back on the cold, dusty stone floor, and she can sort of make out a pair of shapes looking down on her from above.

"Where… am I?" No sooner does the thought cross her mind than it all comes back to Abigail, the young Vox groaning as she remembers the tentacled monster and the birdman, and how she'd been unceremoniously hurled into a wall by a solid blow.

"Abby?" One of the shapes speaks up again, its voice sounding awful familiar. It takes a measure of effort, but Abigail manages to focus her eyes on the speaker, and a smile spreads across her lips as her eyes finally come into focus. Vivian's staring down at her with worry plain in her brown eyes.

"Hey, Viv… Sean… are ya' okay?"

"Thank God…" Vivian sags as she heaves a deep sigh, "We're all okay, Abby. You took the worst of it… you've been out for a couple minutes now."

"I'll be… be…" Abigail's vision suddenly swims and nausea wells up from within as she pushes herself up into a sitting position, the redhead falling back before being caught by Vivian and Sean, the pair easing her to the ground. "Uh… guess I'll be needin' a minute…"

"Rest." A stern voice comes from Abigail's right, the woozy young woman glancing over to find Yoshiro standing nearby with his Chinabroom Shotgun at the ready and he eying the remaining cells, "We still have time."

"Okay…" Nodding slowly, Abigail lets loose another pained moan; she can feel the bump on the back of her head growing, and she doesn't have much choice but to rest on it right now. "Viv… what happened?"

Vivian frowns at Abigail, and only now does the redhead notice the black ichor splattered across her friend's blue and red uniform and just how badly the crows' talons had cut her. Vivian's uniform is torn through in several places on her arms and parts of her face are scratched up. "After you cut down that… crow creature, the rest of us fought off the others…"

Abigail listens quietly as Vivian briefly describes the squad's actions: she had launched the waterlogged, octopus-like creature aloft with Bucking Bronco and fired into it repeatedly; Mattie had managed to keep the burning man away with blasts of Undertow, the water jet snuffing out the flames and solidifying it long enough for the young sniper to harm the mass of flaming coals; and Sean and Yoshiro took the fragmented creature apart, the fire from their Shotgun and Repeater not giving it enough time to reassemble as more and more floating pieces were blown away.

"Still… those two are plenty banged up, and Mattie's burns are going to need looking at."

"Not ta' mention your own injuries…" A grimace crosses Abigail's face as Vivian finishes, "I should 'ave told ya' about these monsters…"

"Ah, it's fine." Sean pipes up, his lilting brogue in sharp contrast to this dreary, oppressive place, "Just what in the hell were those things, anyway?" A quiet murmur of assent comes from the others.

A relieved sigh escapes Abigail, both for her friends and comrades being safe and sound, and that they don't seem to blame her for their run in with these monsters, "I think these things are… were folks Fink tested his Vigors on. They must've been given a whole heap of the stuff, too…" As she tries to explain without mention of ADAM or anything of the like, Abigail manages to sit up successfully this time. Her strength's been returning steadily since she woke, and the young redhead can hardly believe she didn't notice how weak she'd felt before.

"Okay… enough talkin'." Looking past Vivian, Abigail spies the door at the end of the wing, light still filtering pouring out of the viewport, "I need that door open. Sean, ya' still 'ave your pa-"

"Open? I can do open, boss." A mischievous grin appears on Sean's face, the young Irish lad unslinging his RPG and leveling it at the door.

"No-!" Abigail cries out, but it's too late; Sean's already fired, the rocket spiraling down the corridor and exploding against the solid steel security door. The blast kicks up a cloud of smoke and dust, a billowing wall that rushes back towards them and sweeps past, leaving Abigail and her people to choke on the rocket's residue.

"Sean! Your pack, not rocket!" Abigail climbs to her feet hesitantly as she coughs into her glove.

"Oh… oh! Uh… sorry, Abby…"

"Just… just get down there an' get it ready…" Groaning, Abigail starts for the door while massaging the back of her head, the others following suit once the cloud of dust and smoke dissipates.

The rocket left little more than a dent and a blast mark where it struck the door, not nearly enough to blow the thick metal barrier out of the way. What it had managed was to destroy much of the fine wood paneling around the door and parts of the angel statues to either side, each missing the wing and arm closest to the blast as well as bits and pieces all over scored or gouged by shrapnel.

Abigail's head still throbs as she makes it to the door, Sean and Yoshiro having arrived ahead of her and already at work; Sean's pack held a pair of hand drills and several sticks of dynamite, the pair punching holes in the stone blocks surrounding the door and sliding the explosives into them. And Abigail can't help but worry as she peers into the comfortably decorated cell, "Please don't let her be hurt by… huh?"

Abigail's mumbled supplication is left hanging; inside, the redhead spies the middle-aged caretaker staring back at her, the spinster kneeling beside the bed with hands clasped as if in prayer.

"W-why?!" Sputtering, the spinster shrinks from Abigail, terror in her voice and demeanor, "Why have you come back?! Don't you understand? She can't… she can't leave here!"

"She can't be stayin', neither!"

Abigail doesn't know why she's shouting back through the glass, and she doesn't care, either, "I'm takin' her away from here! She don't deserve ta' be locked up with these monsters, like some… some freak!" The spinster appears taken aback by Abigail's sudden outburst, and she gives the woman a long, hard look, "We're goin' ta' blast this door open; nothin's goin' ta' change that."

"But…" The spinster's eyes dart to the sleeper on the bed for a split second, "But the Prophet…"

"The Prophet's dead!" Abigail damn near roars through the glass, the middle-aged caretaker jumping in fright, "Any of the Founders learn 'bout her, an' they'll try ta' use her, no tellin' how!"

"Who are you talking about, Abigail?" A quiet, questioning voice comes from nearby, Mattie stepping close and trying to peer through the window while removing her eye patch, her dark eyes shining with curiosity. But Abigail shakes her head, keeping her attention on the spinster.

"If… if you blast the door, miss… you'll hurt her!"

"Then don't force me ta' do that…" The tone of her voice softens, Abigail's own fears over her plan coming to the forefront of her thoughts, "Open the door."

She holds her breath as the spinster stares back at her, the woman nervously wringing her hands in silence; Abigail's played her last, impromptu card, her entire argument desperately come up with on the fly or taken from their last encounter. She hadn't expected the caretaker to be inside at all. And the silence between them stretches on, Abigail silently pleading with the spinster, at least until a hand on her shoulder pulls Abigail away from the viewport. "Abby, it's ready."

"Thanks, Viv…" Nodding slowly, Abigail looks back through the window, "Last chance; are ya' goin' ta' open up, or am I goin' ta' do it for ya'?" Another terrified look crosses the spinster's face, Abigail shrugging when the caretaker doesn't answer. "Okay…"

"W-wait! Do you… do you swear not to hurt her?"

"Of course!" Abigail rests her hands on the lower lip of the circular window, a tiny, cautious hope flickering to life within her.

The spinster seems to shrink somehow as her shoulders sag, a look of surrender about her, "If… if only you come in… I'll…" The woman trudges around the bed and up to the security door, lifting her head only to peer into Abigail's eyes before looking away again. A loud 'clunk' sounds a moment later.

"Thank ya', miss…" Moving out of the way as the door swings outward, Abigail hesitantly steps onto the plush, dark green carpet and into the room as she whispers her thanks. But her gaze quickly turns from the spinster and the lavish decorations to the figure on the bed, Abigail slowing with each step she takes until she's looking right at the sleeper.

"It… it really is her…"

Lying in bed and still very much asleep is Elizabeth, the Lamb of Columbia still looking healthy and whole, aside from her partly missing little finger. She's just as Booker's memories showed Abigail, Elizabeth dressed in the same white blouse with blue cuffs and sailor collar and her long hair tied back in a ponytail, the silver thimble on her finger shining in the light.

Kneeling at Elizabeth's bedside, Abigail finds she doesn't know what to say, not in the slightest; she's been working up to this moment for the better part of a year, yet she can't find the words now that they're finally face to face. All she can think of is that she and her squad have finally done it, but there's little satisfaction in the thought for Abigail; they still have to escape first.

Tentatively, Abigail reaches for Elizabeth and caresses the sleeping girl's cheek with the back of her hand, a bittersweet smile touching her lips as something finally comes to mind, "We're getting' ya' out of here, Elizabeth… I can't promise ya' much of anythin', but at least you'll be out…" But there's little time for sentimentality, Abigail rising after a moment and turning to the terrified caretaker, "Ya' took care of her all this time, why don't ya' come with us? She'll need ya'…"

"Y-You'd let me stay with her?"

"Sure… of course." Abigail nods, trying to look as reassuring as possible.

"I… umm… o-okay…"

"Great. Let's get goin'."

Abigail spends the next several minutes picking up the sleeping Elizabeth with the spinster's hesitant assistance; Abigail ends up carrying Elizabeth piggyback style, the girl's arms draped around the redhead's neck. "An' now comes the hard part…" The young Vox grimaces as she starts for the exit; Elizabeth's not particularly heavy, but Abigail isn't especially strong either, and she's plenty banged up.

When she steps out the door, Abigail's entire squad aside from Vivian gasps or stares as they spot her, and she can't blame them; who'd expect her to step out of the cell with the Lamb on her back? And Yoshiro's glaring at the sleeping girl on her back, Abigail giving him a hard look in return; the older soldier still holds a grudge against Booker and Elizabeth for what happened to Daisy. "Let's get goin'…"

Yoshiro growls something under his breath, but the old soldier nods after a moment, much to Abigail's relief. "Viv…" Turning to her Vivian as she steps close, Abigail gives her friend a small, lopsided grin, "Take our people an' the lady here up ahead; I'll be right behind… don't want to risk this girl getting' caught in a crossfire…"

"Sure… you heard her, move out!" Barking orders, Vivian stops before marching down the hallway, a furtive smile on her lips, "You did it, Abby. I can hardly believe it…"

"Me neither, Viv…" Abigail returns the smile, and Vivian turns and hurries back down the hall to join the rest of the squad, leaving the young Vox to slowly follow.

But as she makes it about halfway down the hall, high-pitched squeal fills the quiet asylum wing and drawing a wince from Abigail. And the slightly husky voice that comes from an unseen speaker fills Abigail with dread, "Well, if it isn't the little redheaded tramp. I thought I'd finished you last time we met, but it would seem you're becoming far too resilient lately."

"Mercier…" Gritting her teeth, Abigail peers around, trying to find the speaker, "Where are ya' hidin', ya' lousy…"

"Oh, I think you have bigger problems to worry about." Malevolent chuckling fills the wing before Mercier's voice disappears, and Abigail can't help the feeling of dread that starts to tie knots in the pit of her stomach. It doesn't take long for her to realize the woman from Rapture's meaning, either; the sound of the cells unlocking come one after the other, echoing down the hall.

"Oh, son of a..." Panic fills the young redhead. Vivian and the others are at the far end of the hall already, no chance of her getting there safely with Elizabeth on her back, and Abigail looks around frantically for something, anything that could get them out of this. But all she can find is the one thing she hadn't wanted to use in the first place, the elevator leading up to Comstock's quarters. "Viv! Get out of here, an' tell Wei ta' bring the barge up top!"

She can't hear Vivian's reply as she runs to the elevator, hitting the button to call it as howls and shrieks come from the opening security doors, the redhead hoping, praying that the elevator car is down here rather than where she'd left it. And to her immense relief, the doors open a moment later, just as ten more of the Vigor-born monsters trudge out of their cells and towards her. "C'mon, c'mon, c'mon!"

The doors begin to close as Abigail pounds on the button, time seeming to move in slow motion as she hears the creatures getting closer and closer; a wet, slopping sound catches her ear the most, renewing the young woman's dread as she imagines another of the octopus-like beasts squeezing into the car with her and Elizabeth.

But the doors close just as a shape fills the doorway, the elevator shut up tight and Abigail damn near collapsing against the wall, gasping for air; she hadn't realized she'd been holding her breath this whole time. "We're alright…" Still leaning against the rich wood paneling as the elevator rises, Abigail glances over her shoulder to find her passenger still asleep and undisturbed, "Glad you're takin' this so well…"

Stepping out into the Prophet's bedroom once the elevator doors open, Abigail slowly makes her way back to the study and the broken out window she and her squad came in the last time, the redhead starting to slow down as her injuries catch up with her. "We're almost outta here, don't ya' worry… oh, come on!" Frustration's thick in her voice as the telltale whine of a gunship's engines comes from outside, a pair of Founder ships appearing the moment she steps inside.

"So you escaped the beasts. You didn't really think that was the end of it, did you?" The woman herself stands on one of the gunships, holding a microphone as half dozen blue-clad soldiers prepare to jump.

"The hell do ya' want with me, huh?!" Shouting back as she backs away, Abigail turns to run the way she came; she doesn't know where she's running, but Abigail won't let that woman get her hands on Elizabeth.

The faintly husky voice begins to laugh again as she runs, "I simply cannot allow you to have that one. But don't fret, girl; I've ordered my men to capture you, unharmed. So long as you don't resist." More laughter comes from over the PA, the sound chilling Abigail to the core.

Her mind racing as she rushes back into Comstock's living quarters, Abigail doesn't know where she's running, only that she has to get far away; there's still the other elevator, as much of a longshot as that might be. But as she turns another corner, Abigail nearly jumps out of her skin; a flickering shape floats right before her eyes, distorting whatever's behind it. "A… a Tear?"

And the Tear suddenly opens, swallowing Abigail and Elizabeth whole, leaving only a startled cry.

* * *

?

"Gah!" Abigail grunts as she lands hard on soft green carpet, the Tear having deposited her wherever this is a few feet off the ground. And she can't keep her balance with Elizabeth on her back, Abigail staggering forward a few feet before falling flat on her face.

"Least the floor's comfy…" Mumbling into the carpet, Abigail wearily lifts her head and blows aside a lock of hair that'd gotten into her eyes. Taking stock after a long moment, Abigail looks up to find walls with swirling patterns of greens and blues, the room's furniture upended and in disarray. But something else catches her eye, Abigail falling silent and completely forgetting about her surroundings as she realizes she's not alone.

A woman stands in the doorway directly before her, Abigail only able to make out a black skirt and shoes, the clothing unlike anything from Columbia. And as she pushes herself up slowly, Abigail can barely believe her eyes as she focuses on the woman's face; long, loose black curls frame the woman's face and contrasts with her alabaster skin, her ruby red lips standing out. But it's those deep blue eyes that Abigail can't help but stare at, eyes she would recognize anywhere.

The woman looks unnerved, though she manages to sound anything but. "Who are you…? No… HOW are you here?"

Abigail can only stammer as she stares back, "E-Elizabeth?"

* * *

**Author's Note: How many of you thought that Abigail wouldn't find Elizabeth in the cell, after reading this chapter's title? It took me a while to work out how to describe the Undertow creature, but given how mutated some of the Splicers in Bioshock 2 looked (not to mention the concept art of the Aquatic Splicer, which I did look at a lot), I think it came out pretty in-line with what ADAM can do. **

**Now, what exactly do you think happened at the end, after Abigail and Elizabeth fell through the Tear? Is that really Elizabeth she's looking at, and if so, how do you think this is possible? Remember, Tears make everything more complicated. **

**I've given the chapter several lookovers due to the delay, but I'll give it another look later. Thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoyed the chapter.**


	14. Girl Out Of Time

**For new readers, this story is based off of and is tied into several other pieces of mine. If you're not sure where to start, I'd suggest finding Bioshock Infinite: Unbroken, as well as its prequel Unbroken: Song of Sorrow and the continuation Unbroken: I'm Home. Thanks for checking it out.**

**Foreword: Well, I'm back. I'll explain the reason for the absence at the end of the chapter. Also, Abigail's story took a detour into the A Second Chance story, and this chapter chronologically comes after chapter 4 of that one.**

* * *

"Ahhg!"

A startled cry is all Abigail can manage as she falls through the Tear, her surroundings suddenly changing from the frosty, abandoned Rapture apartment to a world of inky darkness. She can't see a thing as she falls, Abigail flailing her arms as panic begins to take hold. But that all comes to an abrupt stop, her descent ending as quickly as it began with a quiet 'thud', she landing on something soft and warm. "What… what's goin' on… Elizabeth?"

Finding hard ground on either side of her, Abigail carefully pushes herself off the unconscious girl, though she can only guess if it's Elizabeth or not in this darkness. "Okay…" Climbing unsteadily to her feet, Abigail tries to take in her surroundings, shapes beginning to form as her eyes begin to adjust. And a sigh parts Abigail's lips as she turns about completely; all she knows for certain is that they're inside somewhere and it's dark out, a small window revealing a starry sky. "Where… where are we? An'… who opened it…?" She stands in a dark, dusty room with crumbling brick walls and a single flimsy door, the latter standing near the small window.

"Won't do us any good, just waitin' 'round… c'mon, let's get goin'…"

Abigail's just about to pick the unconscious Elizabeth up when a sound she can only figure is boots pounding on wood reaches her, and she whirls around to face the door as the noise draws close; she's reaching for her Hand Cannon on reflex, but Abigail freezes, "Don't know where I am… an' firin' is bound ta' draw plenty of attention… hell's bells…" Cursing, Abigail reaches instead for the hilt of her sword, the blade making a quiet, rasping noise as she pulls it free. "An' we're trapped, ta' boot… 'less I fancy takin' a swan dive out that window…"

Creeping over to stand beside the door, Abigail holds her weapon with both hands so the cross guard's near brushing against her cheek and the blade rises straight up over her head. "Door's goin' ta' open inward, best shot's ta' swing as the fella comes through…" But she quickly shakes her head, Abigail scowling, "No, can't just cut 'em down… could be nobody dangerous…" Abigail closes her eyes to listen, focusing solely on the sound of the footfalls; they're becoming softer and softer, sounding more and more cautious as they approach. "C'mon, damn ya'… just open it, already…"

The footsteps fade away as they come up to the door, Abigail holding her breath and tightening her on her sword's hilt. And she gets just what she asked for, though not in the manner she'd expected; a fierce, sudden crash shatters the silence, Abigail only barely able to make out a booted foot kicking in the door as she brings up an arm to shield her face. The plain door slams into the wall across the frame from Abigail, the wood around the doorknob a shattered, ruined mess.

But Abigail's attention is focused entirely on the still unseen stranger, taking a slow, quiet breath as she readies to strike; whatever worries she had that this might be an innocent bystander just went out the window. And what comes through the door only serves to deepen Abigail's concern; the barrel of a weapon, Abigail recognizing the Triple R in a heartbeat.

Her blade slices down through the gloom, Abigail bringing her sword down on the repeater as hard as she can just as the wielder steps into the dark, dusty room. She doesn't slow for the look of surprise and pain on the gunman's face as her blow yanks the repeater from his hands, doesn't bother shouting as she disarms her foe; the most she utters is a grunt as her sword strikes metal, Abigail reversing the course of her blade and sending it hurtling into her startled opponent's chest.

"Urgh!" The blow plows into the gunman's chest, but the attack doesn't have the effect she'd hoped for; bashing the repeater must have jarred her enough to loosen her grip, Abigail slamming more of the blade's edge into her foe than she'd wanted, drawing blood. Still, it works, the attack hurting the gunman and knocking him to the ground. Dazed, but very much alive.

"Quiet!" Dropping to her knees so she's on the gunman's chest and pinning him to the ground, Abigail shoves her sword against his neck so the blade's edge bites into the soft flesh. "We're goin' ta' have a chat, an' if ya' try ta' get away, you'll be regrettin' it somethin' fierce. Nod if ya' understand."

The helpless gunman nods slowly, staring back up at her with hate burning in his blue eyes. And that draws a sigh from Abigail, she not liking this situation one bit. Fear would serve her purpose better, but even that wouldn't be to her liking. "Alright… who are ya', huh? What are ya' doin' here? Are ya' from Columbia?"

"Vox scum…" The gunman snarls back up at her before gritting his teeth, his demeanor shifting to one of defiance, "Why don't you try and figure that out on your own, you-grk!" Abigail doesn't let him finish, curling her left hand into a fist and belting the Columbian. And she waits for the man to continue, staring daggers at him. "Guh… I'm not alone, Patty… best surrender."

"Ha!" A laugh escapes Abigail, she less than impressed with the soldier's bravado, "Don't ya' be holdin' your breath, _Founder_." The venom in her voice causes the soldier to falter, Abigail direly wanting to draw her blade across his throat; for all her insistence that the Vox rein in their bloodlust, helping the stranded civilians, even not decapitating this fool the moment she lay eyes on him, Abigail still hates the Founders for all they've done. That hate has been tempered by her encounter with Booker, Elizabeth and the Luteces, but it's still there.

Though the soldier she has pinned beneath her sounds like a card-carrying Founder, Abigail has questions that won't be answered if she slits his through. So she grits her teeth, fighting back the murderous impulse, "Where are we, huh? How'd ya' get across the Tear in one piece?"

"New York… you have something that don't belong to you. Orders are to bring her back, and capture you if possible…" The soldier suddenly grins, Abigail seeing it plain despite the gloom, "Even if we fail, the boss will finish the job, mark my words. She'll hunt you down, _Abigail_ of the Vox!"

"Mercier…" The name comes to Abigail's lips unbidden, chilling her to the core; every time she's faced the woman from Rapture, Abigail had nearly met her maker. Not the most pleasant of reminders. "Alright… ya'…" But Abigail stops short, looking up as something faint echoes in the empty building; quiet thuds, rapidly getting louder and coming from beyond the now open door. "Hell's bells…" She's halfway to her feet before the words are out of her mouth, her attention focused on the approaching soldiers as she draws her Hand Cannon. And that proves to be a mistake.

"I got her!" The soldier at her feet bats away the blade and grabs her by the legs, throwing her off balance and fighting to pull her to the ground. "The Vox's up her-"

The thundering report of Abigail's Hand Cannon drowns the soldier out, cutting him off for good. Abigail's moving by the time her erstwhile captive hits the floor, hastily picking up her unconscious Elizabeth and running out the door, all the while desperately trying not to think about what her shot did to the soldier's skull.

Outside the small, empty room that the Tear had dropped Abigail and Elizabeth, she finds there's not much to her liking; the hallway is as dark and unused as the last room. There's only three ways to go, as far as she can tell: a boarded up door immediately to her right, though Abigail can't imagine there's an escape to be found through there; the stairs down, also on the right of the hallway, the rapid footfalls of the approaching Columbian soldiers coming from downstairs; and finally, a door at the end of the hallway, Abigail able to glimpse stars through the dirty, cracked windows on either side.

"Just hold on tight…" Muttering more to herself than her unhearing companion, Abigail frowns as she runs for the door. She's got Elizabeth slung over her right shoulder, the arrangement none too comfortable and slowing Abigail down even more than usual, but she needs a hand free should the Founder soldiers catch up. "Just hope I won't be needin' ta' reload… I'm no Booker."

That draws a grin from the beleaguered redhead, despite her situation. She doesn't know how he did it, but Abigail's seen Booker reload six bullets into a revolver at the same time, with one fluid motion. It had been both through the memories she'd seen of his and when they met, but the feat was still impressive. "Don't believe that's possible…"

The door's not even locked, Abigail grinning again as she slips through and closes it behind her with a foot. And she turns slowly as a cold wind blows, chilling her face and tickling at her ears; there's stars, alright, Abigail finding herself out on the roof of the building. There are many, many more buildings like this one, bare rooftops stretching out before her, each different yet bearing the same, disused feel about them. But at least the sea of rooftops isn't endless, much to Abigail's relief.

"So this is New York…?" Stepping away from the door, Abigail spots a number of towering buildings in the distance. The cold wind on her face, the unfamiliar skyline before her, Abigail isn't sure how to feel about being her. And while she's coming around to the notion of having arrived in the city Booker's from, Abigail can't help but wonder, "If Ma and Da never left… guh!"

Pain suddenly flares up within her, Abigail pitching forward and falling to her knees as her head begins to throb. And as the borders of her vision begins to blur and shimmer, Abigail recognizes what she's suffering through; a different form of Tear sickness, one that she's experienced once before. Her nose begins to bleed, as if to prove her right.

It takes everything she has to keep from falling face first onto the roof, Abigail's thoughts in turmoil as she struggles to get through it and continue on; for her to be suffering through this, Abigail's question has answered itself, her heart sinking as she realizes that. "She didn't survive…" Sparing a glance at New York's skyline again, Abigail can't help but feel a grim sense of loneliness.

Aside from the splitting headache and other symptoms of entering a world where one's counterpart has died, something nags at Abigail as she unsteadily trudges further from the door; she doesn't suddenly know or remember anything she shouldn't, no memories of another life popping into Abigail's mind. She only has a vague sense of warmth that comes to an abrupt stop, and that confuses her even more. "Gah, don't have time ta' be worryin' over such matters…"

Muttering to herself, Abigail keeps moving across the rooftop, keeping well clear of the ledge; the layout of the rooftop is fairly open, only the central roof access Abigail had come out of obstructing a clear view of her surroundings. But in the darkness, Abigail can't tell much more about her surroundings, and looking for a way out is no easy feat in these conditions.

"No time for gawkin'…" Wiping the blood from her nose on her sleeve, Abigail picks up her pace, still looking for some way down or away; surely there must be a fire escape or something of the like. But the search is slow going, the meager light coming from the street below does little to help, and having Elizabeth slung over her shoulder while trying to keep from being found out doesn't help matters.

"There…" By the time Abigail spots the steel railing of the fire escape, she's been thoroughly chilled by the cool breeze, her voice coming out as barely a whisper. But she's more worried about her sleeping passenger than herself; Elizabeth's not exactly dressed as warmly as she is, Abigail's blue and red uniform offering a good deal more protection from the cold. "Let's see ta' getting' ya' somewhere warm… ah, damn!"

Her curse comes out as a shout before she can stop herself, Abigail looking around quickly for another avenue of escape; the fire escape is gone, only the top floor's worth of steps left hanging from the rooftop. And while the time between her stepping out onto the roof and this very moment doesn't amount to much, Abigail feels panic welling up within her, the Columbian soldiers bound to find to find her sooner than later. "Trapped… we're… huh? What's that…." Something in the dark catches her eye as she looks around frantically; a wooden plank, crossing the gap between this building and the next.

The makeshift bridge looks rickety and none too safe, but that does little to dissuade Abigail; it's no contest, risking a rush across the plank or being cornered by Founder soldiers, especially those under Mercier's command. Still, Abigail's heart jumps into her throat the moment she sets foot on the narrow bridge, a gust of wind causing the plank to shake beneath her. It's a long way down, and Abigail tightens her grip on Elizabeth.

And then it gets worse, just as Abigail's starting to cross the gap in earnest. "They're over here! On the roof!" A man shouts from behind her, Abigail damn near jumping out of her skin at the sound and jerking her head around, finding another repeater armed Columbian soldier coming out of the roof access. More Founder soldiers can be heard from inside the building, and Abigail doesn't need to be told twice; she bolts across the makeshift bridge, gritting her teeth and giving it everything she can to keep from falling.

She can hear the soldiers running after her, but Abigail doesn't dare look back; her gaze is focused entirely on the other roof and where her next step is going to be. The crossing wasn't going to be easy, what with the dark, the narrow path she'd need to stick to like glue and the gusts that threaten to throw her balance off, but carrying Elizabeth over her shoulder and the Founder soldiers breathing down her neck only worsens the ordeal. Abigail's nerves are frayed enough as is, and the tension's not helping any. She silently breathes a little prayer as she goes.

Making it to the other side, Abigail scrambles for the next crossing, the soldiers beginning to make their way across the bridge with repeater's raised. And while they aren't running like she did, but they're closing in fast enough that she can't risk a moment's hesitation. So she keeps running, finding another bridge like the first and crossing it as quickly as she can, Abigail trying to find a moment to slow down her pursuers.

The report of a repeater rips through the quiet night, Abigail ducking reflexively as a bullet digs into the brick chimney on the far side of the second bridge, not two inches from her head. "'Hey! I got your Lamb on my back, ya' bastard!" Shouting and the sound of a fight comes from back the way she came, Abigail's curse notwithstanding. And that gives her an idea as Abigail spies the soldiers, they having come to a stop as a pair of them fight.

"Good enough for me." Abigail draws her Hand Cannon, leveling it at the old plywood bridge and firing, over and over.

* * *

"Son of a...!"

Abigail groans as pain shoots through her shoulder, she having just tried to run through a door, the old wood proving surprisingly resilient and sturdy; enough so that the impact jars every bone in her body, Abigail stopped in her tracks by the solid door. But it turns out to be less than futile, the door giving way enough that it slowly swings inward with a long, quiet squeak.

"Fair enough…" Grumbling quietly while hobbling through the forced open doorway, Abigail lets loose a heartfelt sigh before turning and awkwardly easing the door shut; she's been running from rooftop to rooftop for who knows how long, nearly tumbling from the narrow planks more often than she cares to remember, staying ahead of the Founder soldiers as best she could and toppling or shooting the makeshift bridges when the opportunity arose. So she's exhausted, her lungs crying out for air and body aching.

"I think I lost 'em…" Breathing hard, Abigail rests her forehead against the worn wood of the door, "Won't be makin' any promises, but I'm hopin' we'll be safe here for the moment…"

Peering back over her right shoulder as she whispers between ragged breaths, Abigail finds her unconscious passenger resting her head there; Elizabeth's eyes are still closed, she seemingly unperturbed by the running, jostling, chasing and nearly being shot. She just slumbers peacefully on Abigail's back, oblivious to the dangers they'd faced. "Sleepin' tight, are ya? That's fine… could use a bit of shuteye myself…"

Taking a weary step from the door, Abigail looks around at the room she'd nearly busted her shoulder to get into, even as her fatigue rapidly catches up to her; she's found herself another storeroom for a hiding place, the door they'd come through set into the right corner while a number of standing metal shelves are to their left, a large, many-paned window in the middle of the back wall. Boxes and assorted items are piled up on the shelves and in the corners. "Fine place ta' hole up in…"

Muttering quietly to herself, Abigail carefully steps towards the center of the cramped storeroom, "Better start lookin' for somethin' ta'… like that. That's… never mind."

While it's still the dead of night, there's just enough starlight coming through the window for her to spy a mattress in the near left corner, nestled between the number of metal shelves. "Okay… come on now, love, let's get ya' comfy…"

It takes a few minutes for Abigail to lay Elizabeth down, both due to carefully maneuvering her sleeping charge off her back, and to sit her on the edge first so she can pat the mattress down first; the thin, quilted cloth is a little dirty but otherwise alright, nothing dangerous beneath it as far as Abigail can tell. And given her options, Abigail figures the mattress a better place for Elizabeth to rest than the floor.

"Whew…" Turning and lowering herself to sit on the floor at the foot of Elizabeth's 'bed', Abigail allows herself a quiet yawn as she leans back. While she doesn't know how long it'll last, Abigail's plenty grateful for this small reprieve. And while she takes a moment to relax, Abigail finds herself looking up at the stars outside the storeroom's wide window.

"New York, huh…?" Murmuring quietly to herself, Abigail recalls what the first soldier she'd encountered had coughed up, and how she'd found out he wasn't lying when she ran out onto the roof. Aside from running across the rooftops in a city nothing like Columbia, there had been a handful of landmarks Abigail spotted when she'd climbed up a fire escape and onto one of the taller buildings in the area; chief among them was the Statue of Liberty. "Ma told me stories about home… includin' the giant bronze lady…"

Picking herself up after the momentary break, Abigail steps out from between the shelves and idly wanders around the room, thinking on the ramifications of her ending up in New York; she hasn't a clue as to what the year is, and it could be plenty of trouble if the wrong person saw her. She could run into her parents for all she knows, or even Booker. That draws a grimace across her face; she doesn't think she can handle seeing her parents, and running into Booker won't end well.

"Booker… don't even know if he's here, or if this is the Booker I met…" Lowering herself so she's sitting with her back to the door, Abigail takes a slow breath, "Hell's bells, even if the Booker here is the one I met, this could be before we met…"

But a yawn cuts Abigail off, she covering her mouth with her hand until it passes. Resting the back of her head against the door, Abigail's eyes begin drooping of their own accord, and she's already succumbing to sleep's embrace before she realizes that's happening.

* * *

"Hmm…"

Abigail moans quietly, her eyes opening a crack. "… light…?" And then it clicks in Abigail's mind, she bolting upright and looking around in a panic, "Hell's bells! I fell asleep?!" Light's streaming through the window, casting the storeroom in gray and letting Abigail see just how dusty and in disarray the place is, and there's a good dozen or so cracks in the grime coated window.

"Elizabeth?" Pushing herself unsteadily to her feet, Abigail stumbles a little as she runs towards where Elizabeth's sleeping, catching herself on the metal shelves, "Elizabeth! Are ya'… oh, thank goodness…"

Her unconscious ward still sleeps on the old mattress, the quilted cloth a hell of a lot dirtier than Abigail had thought last night. And Abigail heaves a deep sigh of relief, dropping to the floor as the panic that'd taken hold of her begins to fade, "… can't believe I fell asleep… don't know what I was thinkin' though… have ta' sleep sometime, right?" Elizabeth doesn't answer, though Abigail isn't truly expecting her to.

Looking at the sleeping Elizabeth, Abigail takes another deep breath before carefully considering her options. "I could just… stop… give up on the Vox, give up on Columbia, put down roots an' just take care of her. Or… or I could try ta' find Booker, hope he remembers… everything…" Abigail frowns; she'd thought it over last night, and the chances of this world's Booker being the right one is anything but likely, "Or… or I could try an' find my way back home…"

Looking at Elizabeth, Abigail frowns; none of those options sound especially tempting. Whether it be just the two of them living in New York, Abigail trying to find work and taking care of Elizabeth, or going back home to Columbia and expose her to all the dangers of the city once again, it'll be a hard life for the both of them.

Even finding Booker wouldn't change that overly much; whether he's not the Booker she met or if she's arrived before their encounter in Fink's lab, there's little chance that he'll be able to support or care for Elizabeth with the state she's in. "Not that her stayin' with me is much better..." Shaking her head, Abigail climbs to her feet, slowly this time so as not to trip herself up.

"Okay… better look 'round, find anythin' useful…"

Though she's looking through the boxes and shelves slowly, her thoughts are still on Booker and Elizabeth; there's countless reasons to keep Elizabeth with her and not rely on Booker, but there's also countless reasons to let her father have her, chief of all being that he's her father. "Guh… at least… at least there's better medicine back in Columbia…"

Sighing as she pulls the top off of a wooden crate, Abigail starts digging through forgotten clothing and a number of other articles she can't quite identify. Mostly, there's just work shirts and trousers, but she also finds a few small books, a hard piece of something white with a design scribbled in it, and a small timepiece. "Still tickin', huh?" Picking up the watch, Abigail cleans the dust off its face with her thumb, "3:44… is this right? How long was I sleepin' for?"

Sighing, Abigail drops the watch back into the box and steps away, making her way back to the window while massaging her neck; she hadn't noticed it when she woke, but Abigail's neck is plenty sore, sleeping against the door like that with her sword between her and it not doing her any favors. And while she'd must've gotten a good deal of sleep, it wasn't all that restful, Abigail yawning quietly as she comes to stand at the window.

"Least the sun's nice an' warm…" Closing her eyes as the clouds outside part enough to let sunlight in, Abigail rests her hands on the windowsill while enjoying the warmth. There's nothing she can do about her situation, so why not enjoy the sun, if only for a little while? "I'll figure somethin' later…"

But the clouds return quickly enough, the cool, gray light returning and ending Abigail's basking. "Alright… guess that means it's time ta' get movin' again… but… where?" Abigail has no idea what to do now. It'd all been so straightforward at first, though simple never factored into any of her plans; break into Comstock House with the diversion, rescue Elizabeth and run. But then she was cut off and fell through a Tear, ending up in Rapture and meeting another Elizabeth and Comstock, then fell through yet _another_ Tear to find herself in New York.

"Keep movin', don't let those Founder bastards figure where we are…" Not much of a plan, but it's the best Abigail's got.

But something in the alley below catches her eye, Abigail focusing her gaze on it for lack of a better choice; three figures moving slowly, coming down the alley towards her. A man in brown and black, a woman in white and blue, and a blonde child that's mostly hidden behind the man. And that's when Abigail freezes, her breath catching in her throat, "B-Booker? And that's… that's Elizabeth?!"

Abigail doesn't know what to do, what to say; of all the worlds that the Tear could have taken them, Abigail and Elizabeth landed in the reality that the Booker she'd met lives in! And if that's Booker and Elizabeth, then the child must be... "… umm… that can't be Anna… the child's a little boy…" Squinting at the blonde boy with Booker and Elizabeth, Abigail shakes her head and rubs her eyes, thinking she must've seen wrong.

But it turns out she's seeing right, the child with Booker and Elizabeth a little blonde boy rather than a dark-haired girl. "Guess the child's not Booker's… I'm guessin' he wouldn't bring his little girl to a place like this…" A smile teases at Abigail's lips as she watches them, seeing Booker and his Elizabeth together filling her with a different sort of warmth than what she'd felt a minute ago.

"Elizabeth," glancing back at her Elizabeth, Abigail wishes she could at least show her Booker, but the unconscious girl won't be able to comprehend any of it, "dammit, if only ya' could… oh no..." Looking back to Booker and Elizabeth, dread takes hold of Abigail; she can just barely see a number of soldiers with repeaters, blocking Booker and Elizabeth's path.

"No, no, no!" Going for her Hand Cannon, Abigail's meaning to fire down at the Founder soldiers, but her fingers don't even touch the grip when she hears something from behind; rapid, heavy footfalls, Abigail whirling around to face them just as soon as she hears them.

Another soldier bursts into the storeroom, a look of surprise appearing on his face as he stares back at Abigail. And she knows the fair-haired man's a soldier from the weapon he carries; a Bird's Eye rifle, just like the one Mattie uses. "Ya' picked the wrong room, friend." Abigail charged before the sniper can recover from his surprise.

Her hand goes up to the hilt of her sword again, Abigail drawing the blade from her back just as she crosses the short distance between them. The moment the blade slides free is the same moment the sniper snaps out of his shock, Abigail gripping her weapon with both hands and bringing it down just as the soldier brings his rifle to bear.

The tip of the blade catches the sniper on the collar bone, he crying out in pain as the sharpened steel cleaves through the bone and further into his body. Abigail winces at the sound of his cry and the damage she's inflicting, but she isn't about to stop; the bastard was about to shoot at Booker and Elizabeth, would have shot her and taken her Elizabeth.

"Go down, you bastard!" Her slash cleaves clean through from his right collarbone, through his sternum and out his left ribs, the sniper falling with a look of incredible shock on his face. The Bird's Eye rifle falls from his hand, clattering on the floor.

"Guh…" Despite the encounter lasting no more than five seconds, Abigail groans in pain and staggers back from the body; she'd lashed out as fiercely as she could, her attack damn near throwing her right shoulder out, the blade falling from her hands. While she's killed plenty with blade and bullet, Abigail has never done quite so much damage with the sword she'd taken from a Vox Crow. She averts her eyes so she doesn't have to look at the grisly gash she'd left in the sniper.

"Booker, Elizabeth…" Biting back the pain in her shoulder, Abigail runs to the window as best she can, "Please let 'em be alright…" But what awaits her causes her to gasp; Booker's bolted straight through the crowd of soldiers, his revolver thundering in the alley while Elizabeth runs into a nearby building, disappearing from sight.

"I got ta' help…" Wincing as she reaches for her Hand Cannon, Abigail takes a deep breath to steady herself, in the hope that her aim will be true when she needs it most. But as she rests the top of the revolver's barrel against her forehead, she spots movement in the window across the way, Abigail looking up slowly as she tries to make it out.

Repeater fire and the occasional revolver shot come from the alley, but a new voice enters the fray; the window across from Abigail shatters as a gunshot comes from the other side, deeper than the repeaters but not as much as Booker's revolver. Another sniper, hidden in the shadows.

Anger surges within Abigail at the soldiers and, to a degree, herself; she doesn't know who or what opened the Tear that brought her here, but these Columbians came here to chase after her, and now they're attacking Booker and Elizabeth because she got away. "I'm goin' ta'… I'm…" Seething as she flexes her left hand, Abigail wants to scream, to rage, but that won't help anybody. So she settles for breaking the glass, bashing into the window with the butt of her Hand Cannon.

That seems to draw the attention of the sniper, but Abigail doesn't care; she just raises her left hand, feathers dark as night sprouting from her skin and ebon talons growing from her fingertips. And then the crows appear, she sending a murderous murder of crows cawing and shrieking into the sniper's hiding place, screams telling her she'd found her mark. Her Hand Cannon does the rest, the hidden gunman not so hidden as he tries to protect himself from her Vigor's effect.

And just like that, Abigail's rage subsides, she realizing that everyone below knows she's up here now. "Alright… alright, we gotta go, Elizabeth! C'm-oww!" Turning quickly, Abigail feels something holding her back for a moment, followed by a sharp, brief pain; her braid had gotten caught on a jagged shard of glass that sticks out from the shattered window frame. "Grr… no time ta' worry about that…"

Gathering up Elizabeth and her sword, Abigail runs out the door and turns back towards the roof, the now familiar sound of someone running up the stairs filling her ears. And she bolts for the roof access, Abigail unsure if it's worse to be found out by the Columbians, or Booker. It's a straight shot to the roof access door, but Abigail still only manages to run through just as the footsteps reach her floor; the door closes behind her slowly, and Abigail crouches down beside the doorframe so she can listen.

"Whoever done this ain't one of these soldiers… done him in with one swing, too; no jagged marks…"

"Booker." Abigail barely breathes the name, not daring to move or speak for fear that Booker might find her out.

"Indeed." The disinterested, even voice makes Abigail jump, she looking over quickly to find Robert and Rosalind Lutece standing a few paces from her, the latter being the one who spoke up and scared her. "Unless you'd prefer to be discovered, you may wish to step away. There are questions to be answered and matters to be discussed."

* * *

**Author's Note: And that's how Abigail got involved when Columbians attacked Booker and Elizabeth in I'm Home. So, last week there was zero activity from me, and that's because last week was a hell of a week. A lot of different things came to a head at the same time, and between being busy and a severe lack of sleep, I just couldn't get anything done. But I'm back, and hopefully I'll have the next chapter of I'm Home ready for Saturday night/Sunday morning.**

**Quick note, the Statue of Liberty really was bronze, due to being made of bronze and turning green over roughly 20 years. I figured I might as well put this here, as I noted it in the chapter, but I also figure it's likely to be fairly well known.**

**I've given the chapter a number of lookovers, but I'll make another one at a later date when I'm not half-blind from staring at a white screen and black lettering all day. I also wanted to finish Abigail's involvement in 1896 in one chapter, but it just wasn't in the cards, so I don't quite know what the next mid-week chapter will be. Thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoyed the chapter.**


	15. Hellfire And Homecoming

**For new readers, this story is based off of and is tied into several other pieces of mine. If you're not sure where to start, I'd suggest finding Bioshock Infinite: Unbroken, as well as its prequel Unbroken: Song of Sorrow and the continuation Unbroken: I'm Home. Thanks for checking it out.**

**Foreword: Well, I did mention that this week's chapters would be late.**

* * *

October 8, 1896, 4:09 PM

"Okay… let's get ya' settled…"

Gently laying her sleeping ward down on a bed, Abigail heaves a heavyhearted sigh once Elizabeth's resting on the old, light pink covers and pillow; by her reckoning, it's nearly been a day since she and her squad infiltrated Comstock House, but it scarcely feels like so little time has passed. Surviving Comstock House, Rapture and an ambush by Founder soldiers in New York, Abigail's not surprised in the least that she feels as if she's been running for days.

Taking a seat on the edge of the bed while making sure Elizabeth's resting comfortably, Abigail takes her gaze from the sleeping girl and takes a quick look at their latest hiding place; it's a small apartment, but not abandoned or in disrepair, the bedroom looking to be relatively clean and modestly furnished. A small dresser sits across the room from the bed, both nestled in the corners on either side of the door, and a vanity rests beneath the room's sole window.

The Luteces had offered Abigail brief directions and advised that she make haste before disappearing, answering her startled 'what?' in an uncharacteristically direct manner; Booker and Elizabeth may require a measure of assistance, and time is short.

"Had ta' cross three rooftops an'…" Abigail grimaces, glancing out the small window set into a plain white wall and spying more of the gloomy gray that seems to suffuse this city, "an' slippin' across the street…" The tenement Abigail had brought Elizabeth to was across a street, too much of a gap for the sort of makeshift bridges she'd been using to cross between rooftops. She'd had to make her way down a thankfully intact fire escape and dash across the street, climbing back up the tenement's stairwell once she'd made it safely inside.

"Least the street was empty… heh, guess gunshots will do that anywhere…" But the touch of amusement fades in an instant, Abigail's worries making sure of that. It has only been a few minutes since she and the Luteces parted company, but Booker and Elizabeth are still being hunted, the weapons fire that'd broken the silence a minute ago proof of that.

"Bastards… couldn't catch me an' Elizabeth, so they decided ta' go after Booker and his girl…" The weary expression she wears quickly turns into a snarl, anger cutting Abigail's fatigue like a knife. But Abigail also worries for her sleeping Elizabeth, hoping the Luteces have some idea for keeping the helpless girl safe while she's away.

"Suppose I can't be relaxin', not yet…"

"That would be inadvisable, naturally."

Abigail looks up to find the Lutece twins standing before the door, Rosalind having spoken up first. "Ya' don't have ta' remind me, I'm perfectly capable of realizin' that myself."

"Then you may wish to hurry." Robert nods, glancing back towards the door in what Abigail can only guess is concern on his part, "I suggest remaining in the shadows and not allowing yourself to be discovered. Those two will have quite enough questions, as things stand."

"Umm…" Pushing herself up from the bed, Abigail hesitates and glances back at Elizabeth; given the Luteces' lack of mentioning her, Abigail can only imagine they intend to ensure the sleeping girl's safety. And Abigail has some reservations about leaving Elizabeth with the twins. "Can I trust ya' with her? The thing is… what are ya' capable of, should one of those Founders bursts in here?"

"Circumstances shall not come to that." That's all Rosalind says, not bothering to explain.

"Okay…" A sigh parts Abigail's lips; she'll just have to trust these crazy twins, if she means to help Booker and Elizabeth any. And she has every intention to, Abigail checking her Hand Cannon before taking a step towards the door, "Where do ya' mean for me to be hidin' then?"

"The entrance to this very structure shall suffice, but I leave that matter to your discretion, Ms. Abigail." Nodding slightly, Robert answers as Abigail glances back at Elizabeth.

"That's a real comfo… huh?" Turning back to the twins, Abigail sighs; the Luteces are nowhere to be seen, the twins pulling their disappearing act again.

"My discretion? That doesn't help me any…" A troubled frown touches Abigail's lips as the thought crosses her mind, staring back at where the Luteces stood unhappily; she really doesn't know how to feel or what would be the best course of action, beyond Abigail's immediate concerns of helping the DeWitts and protecting her sleeping princess. There's a part of Abigail, a great big, occasionally ornery part of her that wants to be spotted by Booker and Elizabeth, despite the Luteces' admonishing to the contrary.

"Plenty more good's like ta' come of bein' found out than harm, but…" Wincing, Abigail takes a slow breath as the Luteces glance at each other. "That'll draw 'em in ta' all this…" At the very least, the sounds of gunfire have quieted for the time being, Abigail hoping that silence means Booker and Elizabeth are safe rather than the opposite.

Turning to look back at Elizabeth, Abigail shakes her head, setting her jaw as she turns her thoughts to the task at hand. "I'll be back in a jiffy." With that, Abigail steps towards the door as she holsters her Hand Cannon.

There's too much on Abigail's plate for a nineteen-year old, between her responsibilities within the Vox Populi, her commitment to looking after Elizabeth and helping the refugees that're still trapped in Columbia. Walking away from it all has been sounding more and more tempting.

"I'd better try an' keep my thoughts on somethin' less… overwhelmin'…" Stepping out into the apartment's living room, Abigail makes for the front door, muttering to herself all the while. "Perhaps if the Luteces decided ta' show up every so often, I'd be feelin' better 'bout all this… a little advice would be much appreciated…"

"There is little advice we can offer." Leaving the apartment behind, Abigail jumps as Rosalind's voice comes from right beside her, the physicist standing to the left of the doorframe while her 'brother' stands to the right, "What we offered your former leader resulted from countless failed experiments."

"Hell's b- ya' scared the hell outta me!"

Scowling at the Luteces, Abigail hastily starts down the hallway and towards the stairs, not waiting for the redheaded twins to reply. But the sound of her footfalls is soon accompanied by the Luteces', Abigail gritting her teeth and trying to quell her irritation with the peculiar, cryptic twins.

Glancing back at the twins as she approaches the stairwell, Abigail heaves an exasperated sigh, "If ya' intend ta' follow after me, can ya' at least explain how ya' knew I was here? Was it the two of ya' who brought me here?"

"We were…" Robert glances back at his sister, a hint of displeasure in his expression, "We were unaware of your presence. It is rare should something escape our notice, and we are equally uncertain of how it is you've made your way to this reality."

"It wasn't you?" That gives Abigail pause despite the need for haste, the exhausted redhead staring back at the Luteces askance, "Then how the hell…"

"Perhaps you would be better served by attending to your present task."

"I know, I know, Rosalind…" Coming up to the stairs, Abigail takes the first step hesitantly, "Keep from being seen, help if I can, right…?" But the twins are gone by the time she looks back, and Abigail's not surprised by this in the least.

"Just like 'em ta' disappear when pressed…" Starting down the stairs in earnest, Abigail adjusts the strap across her chest that holds her sword on her back. "Hope I won't be havin' cause ta' use ya'… can't help bein' spotted then."

Carefully making her way downstairs, Abigail keeps a hand on her revolver, taking each step as quickly as she can while keeping the noise to a minimum. But that doesn't' last long; the sound of gunfire shatters the silence, both the heavy report of something akin to a Hand Cannon and the rapid-fire stuttering of Columbian Triple R's. And that spurs Abigail on, she flying down the stairs at a breakneck pace, her own safety barely keeping her from outright running.

By the time Abigail makes it down to the first floor, it's been a little over fifteen minutes since she'd cut down that first sniper, but she's not surprised in the least that the fighting's still going on. After all, those are Founders that are pursuing Booker and Elizabeth.

Running up to the front door of the tenement, Abigail takes cover in the shadows so she can peer out, the mostly boarded up entrance to the theatre just across the empty street from her hiding place. And even from this distance, Abigail can make out the brief bursts of light given off by a gun's muzzle flash; whatever room is through the theatre's sole open door isn't especially well-lit, and she has to strain to make out even vague shapes.

The fighting's already well under way, and Abigail hunkers down while slowly drawing her Hand Cannon. While the door is some distance away, she's not especially worried about hitting her target; it's actually quite the opposite, in fact. Between the distance, the darkness and her need to keep from being found out, Abigail's more than a little afraid of shooting someone she actually likes in there. "Not exactly how I'd picture my visitin' New York would end…"

Still, Abigail levels her weapon at the door while taking a long, slow breath, trying to keep her frayed nerves from getting any more frayed. The gunfire, screaming and occasional shape flashing across the doorway don't help any on that front, but Abigail grits her teeth and narrows her eyes, trying to discern anything that's going on in the theatre.

A flash of red and orange illuminates the theatre's lobby, followed by the distinct sound of a Devil's Kiss Vigor going off. The explosion makes Abigail jump, and she very nearly squeezes the trigger as she finally gets a good look in the theatre; blood curling screams come from within, Abigail shuddering as she imagines a pair of men being incinerated by the Vigor. But she also spots a trio of the soldiers, crouched behind a counter with their repeaters firing at someone unseen, though Abigail has a sneaking suspicion that it's Booker.

Although she has a shot, Abigail eases her finger from the trigger; one of the Founders goes down before the light from the fireball fades, a bullet finding a way into the soldier's chest. Another of the soldiers drops a few seconds later, this one catching another bullet in the stomach.

"Looks like they're doin' just fine, no need ta' get involved."

Lowering her weapon, Abigail rocks back on her heels and pushes herself to her feet; Booker and Elizabeth look to have the situation in hand, and Abigail's thoughts are already turning to getting back upstairs. While she doesn't distrust the Luteces, she does get the sense that they're like to do something foolish. Turning back to the stairs, Abigail breathes a quiet sigh, "All's well that ends well, I suppose…"

But it's never that simple; she catches a flash of light from the corner of her eye, Abigail turning quickly as she recognizes it as a Vigor. Another Devil's Kiss, but the Vigor isn't coming from deeper within the theatre, Abigail's eyes going wide; the last of the soldiers that stand in the doorway holds the flaming orb, the light given off by the Vigor showing a furious expression on his face and his arm cranked back to hurl the fireball.

"No, no, no!" Snapping her weapon up, Abigail grits her teeth as she brings the Hand Cannon to bear, not even a hint of hesitation about her. She pulls squeezes trigger just as quickly, the report of the Hand Cannon filling her ears as the bullet hurtles from Abigail's hiding place towards the theatre. And her aim is true, the bullet punching through the soldier's back. But that's not enough, Abigail taking aim at the Devil's Kiss fireball and squeezing the trigger again.

The fireball explodes as her bullet strikes it, the flames consuming the soldier's body, and Abigail can hear a horrified shout competing with the man's scream and the roar of the detonation. "That's Elizabeth…" A relieved sigh escapes Abigail, slowly lowering her Hand Cannon as the flames begin to dissipate; the soldier was stopped, and Booker and Elizabeth are safe, at least judging by the relative silence.

But Abigail can't enjoy the victory; while she'd helped them, Abigail's certain Booker and Elizabeth realize it, and they're likely to come looking. "Gotta run… ah, hell, that's her!" Whirling about and dashing from the door, Abigail curses beneath her breath; she'd made herself scarce a second too late, spying Elizabeth come around a corner just as she'd made to run. So she bypasses the stairs and keeps going, not wanting to lead the DeWitts somewhere that they might stumble upon the other Elizabeth and hoping they won't give chase for long. Still, Abigail can't quite keep a hint of a smile from her face.

* * *

4:38 PM

A long, weary sigh parts Abigail's lips as she rests against a solid brick wall. She hasn't heard any signs of pursuit for the past several minutes, and Abigail finally allows herself to relax, if only a little. In fact, it's been nearly silent, there only being the occasional creak coming from the building she's hiding behind or the clotheslines hanging overhead.

"With any luck, they're likely ta' be well away from here…" Muttering to herself, Abigail brings a hand up to rub her eyes. "Suppose it's 'bout time ta' head back up, ask the twins ta' get us back home… ah, that shouldn't be hard at all, they're helpful on occasion."

Still, Abigail remains for a short while longer, giving anyone who might be looking for her a minute or two more to be satisfied before she comes out of hiding. It's highly unlikely that all of the soldiers had perished after battling with Booker and Elizabeth, and Abigail's not particularly interested in leading any stragglers to the sleeping princess upstairs.

"Don't know why I keep thinkin' of Elizabeth like that…" Shaking her head, Abigail chuckles softly; it'd popped into her head when she'd been preparing to lead her squad through Comstock House and into the asylum wing, intending to break open the cage that'd held this Elizabeth. Her Ma had told her stories of that nature when she was still but a lass, and Abigail can only figure that they'd just stuck.

Resting her head against the brick and mortar wall, Abigail looks up at the gray, cloudy sky, trying to take her mind off of her problems again; she'd be best served by erring on the side of caution. "It'd be a damn shame ta' be made after all that's happened… c'mon, Abigail…"

A grimace touches her features as she sluggishly pushes herself from the wall, both at how run down she feels and the fact that she's talking to herself. Still, there's only one real course of action for Abigail, and she breathes a sigh as she steps out of her corner hiding spot.

While she'd been hiding here, there really isn't much in the way of cover behind the tenement; essentially, Abigail had ended up in the alley that the tenement's backdoor led to. But it's an alley in name only, the path to the left and right blocked off by a number of buildings, a pair on the left having been built so closely that there is hardly any space between the two. There's only a gap that a rat would have trouble fitting through. And on the right, it's just a single wall of brick, the alley more like a walled in courtyard than anything else.

Abigail had hoped to slip into the apartment building across the courtyard and hide there until the coast was clear, but that plan hadn't gotten her very far; the graying wooden door hadn't budged when Abigail tried to run through, the only avenue of escape locked and sturdier than it appeared. "Hadn't had time ta' try more drastic measures…"

There's some loose trash littered here and there, enough to give the alley a faint but none too pleasant scent, but Abigail's seen and smelled a hell of a lot worse. At the very least, this particular alley is worlds removed from Shantytown, Abigail not giving much of a care for the odor after having lived much of her life in those slums.

"I can see kids runnin' 'round and playin' here…" While there's little here, Abigail's plenty familiar with how children can make a game out of practically anything. And that thought draws a hint of a smile to her lips, Abigail chuckling as she makes her way towards the door she'd come through. "Only two ways in or out, bet some lad made a fort or some such…"

"From Hell's heart!"

The rage-filled, distorted roar that comes from Abigail's right banishes the relaxed moment, she whirling towards the voice while drawing her Hand Cannon. And what she sees fills her with dread; another blackened, flaming ball soars through the air, not directly at her but at where she would've been in a moment. "Hell's bells…"

Dashing towards the locked tenement to get beneath and past the deadly Vigor, Abigail has to dive to get far enough from the explosion, a high-pitched whine sounding just as it passes mere inches over her head. But the blast of the Vigor still reaches her, buffeting Abigail even though she'd managed to avoid the flames.

"Dammit…" Once the Vigor's come and gone, Abigail pushes herself up as quickly as possible; between the disturbed roar that had preceded the attack and the Devil's Kiss that had been flung her way, Abigail's got a fair idea of just what she's facing. "Fireman… Fireman?! What in the hell's a Fireman doing here?!"

The metal clad Fireman stands atop the far tenement, the glow of his torturous armor standing out against the gray clouds. But the burning lunatic isn't forming another Devil's Kiss fireball in his padded hands; at this distance, Abigail can easily avoid them so long as she sees the attack coming, and the Fireman seems to have realized this. Rather, he just started charging directly at her, all that heavy metal and the boiler strapped to his back making what comes next hard to believe; the flame-wielding soldier leaps from the top of the roof, screaming all the way as he hurtles towards Abigail.

"Holy…!" Abigail has pressing need to run again, the Fireman leaping nearly clear across the 'courtyard' catching her by surprise. And unlike the Zealot she'd fought in Emporia and the monsters she'd faced in the depths of Comstock House, Abigail has no intention of getting into any sort of close quarters with this Fireman and his flames.

But her fiery foe has other ideas. The moment he crashes onto the alley's floor, flames quickly gather around his hands, a guttural roar coming from behind that iron mask. "Son of a bitch!" That's all she can utter before the Fireman triggers a fiery explosion, the blast blowing Abigail back as the flames lick at her. And while Abigail had managed to bring her arms up to protect her face and chest, the flames still burned through the fabric and drew a pained gasp from her.

Rolling to a stop on the hard, unforgiving ground, Abigail groans as she fights to rise; nothing important is hurting, but the pain in her arms is excruciating. "Least I managed ta' hold on ta' my gun…" Lifting her head, Abigail spies the Fireman moving towards her at a leisurely pace. At least, as leisurely as someone who's trapped in a burning metal contraption like that, Abigail suspecting the Fireman's likely lost his mind a long time ago.

And to make matters worse, the Fireman is between Abigail and the door, though running was never really an option; even if she could get past the Fireman, he'd just pursue her, and Abigail can't imagine she'd be able to shake the lunatic. "Alright… let's have a go at it, then…" Pushing herself off the ground with a pained grunt, Abigail clenches her left hand while calling up a Vigor of her own.

She can't hold back, not if she hopes to survive. Abigail can't worry that Booker and Elizabeth might hear, can't allow herself to be distracted by the problems that await her back in Columbia. "Do or die… ain't that the truth."

"Burn in the name of the Prophet!"

"Ya' seem ta' have that one down already!" Shouting back at the Fireman as the armored soldier charges, dark feathers sprouting from Abigail's burned left arm and long, wicked talons replacing her fingernails, "Let's see how ya' like my Vigor!"

Black wings, curved talons and shrieking beaks surge towards the Fireman, Abigail gasping in pain as the feathers growing out of her burned skin send pain shooting up her arm. But the crows do their work, swarming the Fireman despite the scalding armor and drawing pained cries from the man, the birds finding ways past the iron suit.

The cawing of the crows does little to drown out the report of her Hand Cannon, Abigail aiming square at the Fireman's chest and squeezing the trigger as quickly as she's able; with the flailing her foe's doing to fight off the crows, there's little chance she'll be able to connect with the Fireman's helmet, and Abigail can't imagine she'll have long before her Vigor disappears.

Bullet after bullet slams into the Fireman's chest, each shot ringing in Abigail's ears and forcing the burning soldier back. But by the fourth shot, the crows are already beginning to disperse, the Fireman's featureless mask and baleful, burning eye slits turning her way again. And the birds are all but gone by the fifth shot, her foe shaking off the dark feathers left in their wake and howling at Abigail.

"C'mon…" Raising her weapon and training it on the Fireman's helmet, Abigail glares back at the approaching madman; her attacks haven't been entirely ineffective, her foe's movement sluggish and nowhere near as intense as before.

But all she hears next is a metallic click, Abigail blinking as her mind tries to process what's happened; she'd reloaded her weapon after taking refuge in this alleyway, she's sure of it. "Misfire…? Ah, hell!" She hasn't the time to check, the Fireman putting on a sudden burst of speed and charging straight at her.

Jumping out of the way of the Fireman's reckless charge, Abigail breaks open her Hand Cannon so the empty shells fall free, the misfired bullet falling out like all the rest. And she can only curse; Abigail's exactly where she hadn't wanted to be, in arm's reach of the Fireman with only an empty gun in hand and sword on her back.

Only able to slip a single bullet into a chamber, Abigail snaps the Hand Cannon closed again just as her foe turns to her, a fireball forming in his gloved hand. Bringing the weapon up seems to take an eternity, Abigail's focus entirely on the Fireman and the Vigor in his hand; if the Fireman's quicker on the draw, Abigail has no doubt in her mind that his Devil's Kiss will finish her, her senses sharpening as her possible end draws nearer and nearer.

A gunshot rips through the empty alleyway, the deadly bullet from Abigail's Hand Cannon stopping the Fireman in his tracks. And Abigail can barely keep her feet beneath her as she stares in relief, the heavily armored soldier before her staggering back while clutching at his chest; she'd scarcely hoped that this last shot would bring the fight to an end, but it looks to have done just that.

Or so she thought, her burning foe not done quite yet; flames begin to gather around the Fireman's arms, the seams in the iron armor glowing. "We'll suffer together! TOGETHER!" A high pitched whine comes from the boiler strapped to the Fireman's back, deeper than that of a Devil's Kiss fireball but far more sinister, and Abigail barely has time to react. All she can manage is to bring her ungloved hand up again, though she has hardly any Salts left at all.

"Let this work…!"

* * *

"Finally…"

Abigail's voice carries more than a hint of pain and weariness as she mutters to herself, the New York tenement transforming into a dark, empty room in the Factory as she steps through the Tear. The Luteces had gladly opened the Tear after she'd managed to haul herself back upstairs, once they'd given her a measure of medical attention; the Fireman's suicidal attack would've done her in if she hadn't managed a last minute defense, courtesy of Return to Sender. She didn't have the Salts to stop the attack entirely, but it was enough that she lived through it.

Now, her arms, chest, head and parts of her face are covered in bandages, the twins having to produce a second medical bag just for that purpose. And while she's feeling a damn sight better for the Luteces treatment, Abigail's still hurting all over. "Least we made it…"

Despite Abigail's pain and discomfort, Elizabeth rests peacefully on her back, just as she'd done through Rapture and their flight across the rooftops in New York. While the matter of caring for the sleeping girl still needs addressing, Abigail's willing to let it rest until she can get some herself.

Moving towards the door, Abigail hesitantly pushes it open and steps out; she must look a fright, covered in bandages, her uniform singed and blackened, and her hair isn't fairing much better. "Wonder what Viv will have ta' say… or…"

The light in the hallway dazzles Abigail for a moment, and a number of gasps sound as her eyes slowly adjust. And it doesn't take her long to realize why, once she's able to see properly again; there's a dozen men and women dressed in Vox red staring back at her, surprise and shock evident in their expressions. "Ah… I'm back…"

The next few minutes are a blur, several of the Vox leading her to a bench and worrying over her while others run off somewhere, ostensibly to let someone or other know that she's back. And there are more than a few questioning looks directed at her companion, but Abigail just glares whenever someone starts to ask.

"Abby!" A familiar voice calls out, Abigail looking around to try and find the lady it belongs to. And she finds her, the moment a blue-clad woman fights her way through the crowd of Vox. "You're… what happened to you?!"

"Viv… I'm back…" Smiling weakly, Abigail sighs as she answers, "I… had an adventure, I guess."

"An adventure…?" There's confusion in Vivian's voice, but Abigail's friend just shakes her head and helps her to her feet, "Let's get you to Wei... you and your friend." The former Columbian soldier glances at Elizabeth before leaning close to Abigail, her voice a whisper, "You did it, Abby, but you'll have to tell me all about it later, alright?"

"Sure…" Making to pick up Elizabeth, Abigail grimaces, and Vivian moves to help as well, "What… what's the date? I can't tell how long I was gone… did everyone make it out? Anythin' happen?"

A dark look crosses Vivian's expression as she and Abigail start through the crowd, Elizabeth between them with her arms over their shoulders. "We got out alright… but… plenty's been happening while you were gone. It's only been two days, Abby…"

"What?" Abigail's none too surprised about how long she's been away, but the tone of Vivian's voice worries her, "What's goin' on, Viv?"

Vivian waits to answer until they're clear of the crowd, only a few of the Vox following after them. "Someone tried to kill Downs, and that didn't go well… between that and you disappearing, the other leaders are all up in arms… and…"

If Abigail weren't dead tired and hurting all over, she'd be tempted to grab Vivian by the collar and start shaking. "And?!"

"They're all fighting, Abby." There's a haunted look in Vivian's eye as she says it, "Plenty of our people got skittish and left, going to whatever side they thought they'd have the best chance of survival in… not a lot of us left."

"Hell's bells…" Groaning, Abigail hangs her head dejectedly, "Guess I really wasn't much of a leader, was I?" She's back to making do with a small group, likely hoping they won't be noticed by any of the warring factions. But maybe, just maybe that'll work out for the best; after all, she has Elizabeth to look out for.

* * *

**Author's Note: And that concludes Abigail's visit to New York. You didn't think the soldiers would've showed up there without a heavy hitter coming along for the ride, did you? Abigail's encountered all three Elizabeths in the space of a day, and now she's back in Columbia with the Vox, who're descending into their very own civil war. Will Elizabeth's presence cause a problem, and what else might change for her, now that she's back?**

**I'll need to give the chapter another lookover or three, didn't have as much time to clean up as I'd have liked. As usual, any feedback would be much appreciated. Thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoyed the chapter.**


	16. Eye Of The Storm

**For new readers, this story is based off of and is tied into several other pieces of mine. If you're not sure where to start, I'd suggest finding Bioshock Infinite: Unbroken, as well as its prequel Unbroken: Song of Sorrow and the continuation Unbroken: I'm Home. Thanks for checking it out.**

**Foreword: So, for a point of reference, this chapter takes place at the same time as (as much as time works between different worlds) I'm Home chapter 26, even though Abigail had recently been in New York at the time of chapter 37. Tears and time don't necessarily have to work together, and Abigail's trip through the Tears had taken her relatively back, then forward in time before bringing her home.**

* * *

November 6, 1913, 6:20 PM

"Abigail?"

"Hm? What?" Blinking, Abigail's head snaps up at the sound of Vivian's voice only to find all eyes on her. It would seem her thoughts had wandered off on their own, Abigail rubbing her eyes and taking a breath before speaking up again, "What is it ya' be needin'?"

"A decision on supplies." Yoshiro leans forward and rests his hands on the large, round table they're clustered around, his voice as heavily accented as ever. "We must ration, or cut off deliveries until our supplies are replenished."

Abigail balks at the decision, neither of the choices likely to make her especially popular. Rationing always cuts into morale, a major concern with their lesser numbers and a civil war raging around them. But the refugees need their help more than ever, and Abigail isn't about to abandon them. Winter's coming, and winter in Columbia can be bitterly cold. "Cut rations a bit, we'll see how far that gets us."

Yoshiro nods curtly, and Abigail looks back down to one of the many maps before her, resting her hands on the table as she tries to make sense of what she's seeing; it's a map of the Factory and Finkton, but the fighting between factions of the Vox have made it dangerous for anyone attempting to get a clear idea of the industrial complex's state, and what areas are controlled by who never remains the same for long on the front lines.

The Vox's civil war has been tearing up the Factory, Finkton and the surrounding areas for about a month and a half, and none of the three factions are showing any signs of calling the fighting off. Preston Downs had drawn enough followers to his 'loyalists' to keep on even footing with the other two, but all Abigail sees is a bloody power struggle, the ideologies of the factions notwithstanding.

"Least we've been able ta' keep ta' ourselves, in our small corner…" Abigail and her people now call the portion of the Factory near the barge docks their own, away from the fighting but still far too close for comfort.

With their numbers diminished, the Vox moderates present no real threat in the civil war, and the factions seem willing to ignore them so long as Abigail's people stay out of it. While Abigail's relieved that her people can stay out of the fight and glad that she has less responsibilities now, the loss of so many to desertion has caused their group a number of hardships as well, the lack of manpower showing most in working Arboria.

Looking up to the group gathered around the table in what used to be a foreman's office, a few of her squad mates and a handful of others, Abigail wonders how many have realized the same; if they don't have enough hands working the fields, rationing won't be enough to get them through the winter season. This year's crop hasn't been harvested, either, Abigail hoping they'll be able to manage well enough when it comes time. "I suppose I could have less guardin', but that don't strike me as wise…"

On the upside, near all of the mechanics among Abigail's group remain, leaving the relative moderates as the most capable of maintaining and repairing the Vox controlled hovercrafts. In fact, most of the crimson painted and covered gunships and cargo barges are docked here, the power struggle having devolved into primarily hallway to hallway gunfights.

While farming and securing themselves against attacks have grown measurably more difficult, the support Abigail and her people have been providing Columbia's refugees has curiously become both much easier and much more taxing; with the hovercrafts on hand and the attention of the rest of the Vox Populi elsewhere, it's easier to make the journey without being discovered. But the consequences of being found out are greater than ever, and the shortage of able bodies to see the supplies safely to the refugees isn't helping any.

"So ya' got a plan for us, Abigail?" One of the Vox gathered at the table speaks up, Patrick, Abigail thinks, "We can't just be hidin' out here, waitin' for one of those bastards ta' come after us."

Scowling, Abigail gives the middle-aged Irishman a long, hard look before answering, "Weren't ya' supposed ta' be bringin' me an account of our weapons? We're fine for the time bein', an' we'll see ta' that when need be." That seems to satisfy him, Patrick looking down at the report in his hands. But Abigail breathes a quiet sigh; they're not in the line of fire, but the group of moderates are still too close for comfort.

Those assembled around the table begin speaking in turn, reporting on the faction's various aspects and problems, if only to keep the rest of the group informed on their respective fronts. But Abigail only half listens to her comrades, staring at the number of maps scattered across the table. There's more than just a map of Jeremiah Fink's former domain, a handful depicting nearby areas with Vox interests, and the last is a full map of Columbia. Abigail's been considering relocating to get away from the fighting, but to where?

"Can't vouch for this one's accuracy, though…" Frowning as her gaze passes over the map of Columbia, Abigail sighs quietly; this is the same map that the faction leaders would consider while arguing and planning attacks on the Founders, back when they were still on speaking terms and shouting rather than trying to murder one another. Stains dot portions of the map, likely blood from the coup attempt. And Abigail has no idea if Columbia's still in one piece, such as it is, "No tellin' if bits haven't drifted off by now… or where we are…"

While this doesn't matter as much as the city breaking up, Abigail has to wonder just where they are now; from the memories she'd received from Booker, she knows he started his journey in Columbia off the coast of Maine, but that was another world entirely. The floating city could still be hovering over that lighthouse, but there's also the chance that Columbia's continuing its path over the country. But there is a good chance that the city's just adrift, and could be floating over anywhere in the world. Not an appealing prospect, especially if her people and the refugees end up evacuating Columbia and find themselves over the middle of the ocean.

The Founders have been making some headway since the Vox Populi plunged headlong into civil war, pushing out from Comstock House steadily, as indicated by the blue markings around the stronghold. They're movements have shown signs of deliberate planning and avoid overextending, the Founders taking Emporia with practically no resistance and moving into the surrounding territories in much the same manner.

As the assembled Vox approach the end of the variety of reports, Abigail's thoughts turn to more immediate concerns; it's already getting colder, the much dreaded winter seeming to be already on its way, and Abigail's people will need to get to harvesting soon. The harvest's yield should give the faction more than enough provisions to survive the season, but they'll have to start stockpiling food and some cold weather supplies with the refugees. No telling when a storm will keep the fleet grounded, or if the other factions will start stealing some of the harvest.

"An' that's another set of problems…" Muttering under her breath, Abigail runs her fingers through her red hair, her palm brushing against the scar on her right cheek as she goes. But she only has a moment to indulge her exasperation before realizing the room's gone silent. "Ah… meetin' adjourned."

Murmuring, the Vox file out of the room slowly as Abigail looks to the map again, turning her thoughts back to the latest problems; while they have the mechanics, parts for the hovercrafts are getting harder to come by, and Abigail's people have no way to replace a failed Lutece particle device. There's just no one with the knowhow to build them amongst the Vox.

With the dubious state the hovercrafts are in and the infighting that's tearing the rest of the Vox Populi apart, morale has been suffering as of late. While spirits don't seem to be dropping any more, the air of tension and unease becomes almost palpable at times, and Abigail can only hope her people don't lose hope entirely. Hope for what, she can't say, but anything will do.

And it's not just those of the Vox Populi that need contend with issues of morale; the refugees haven't been faring well, living in fear and in hiding taking its toll on those who'd once enjoyed life in Columbia. Those of the Vox led hard lives before the bloody revolution began, giving them a measure of resiliency, but those holed up in the Church of Comstock save the police there had nothing to prepare them for this harsh reality.

"Suppose we could make Shantytown work, but…" Abigail grimaces as her gaze settles on Shantytown's place on the Finkton and Factory map. "Doubt anyone's gonna be linin' up ta' march back there… started this whole bloody mess ta' get the hell out of Shantytown." Compared to the other Vox, Abigail's people have more freedom of movement, but using it to relocate there doesn't sit well.

The place is deserted, but there's no food in Shantytown or any way to get more, so that either nixes that possibility entirely or Abigail would have to figure something out to remedy the problem. There are a few upsides to using Shantytown to go along with the many problems and bad memories tied to the place; it's layout makes it difficult to assault, they could use the Bull House as a base, and travelling to the refugees shouldn't be any harder than it is now.

"Abigail, you worrying about something?"

Glancing up from the map, Abigail blinks as she lays eyes on Vivian, she on the other side of the table still and the only other person in the room. "Ain't I always, Viv?" Abigail manages a small smile, glad for the respite from thoughts of Shantytown. "I know, I know… frownin' an' all that…"

"Still thinking about moving us somewhere?" Vivian steps around the table, stopping a few paces away and peers at the map Abigail had been focusing on. "How about Fort Franklin? It's still close enough to the Factory…"

"No… too exposed, an' we did a hell of a lot of damage ta' the place…" Abigail's gaze turns back to the map and Shantytown, a scowl touching her features before she looks away. "We'll have ta' grab as many of our ships as we'll need before headin' ta' wherever we're goin', an' we'll be makin' plenty of enemies by the time we're done."

Abigail listens as Vivian goes through a short list of possible locations, though she's already considered most of them herself. Most she has mixed feelings about, whether due to their defensibility, how close they are to the fighting, or just the feelings and memories associated with some of them; few are as deep-seated as what Shantytown evokes, but Abigail just doesn't know. Too many mixed feelings swirling around inside her, and Abigail has plenty to worry about otherwise.

"Wherever we end up, I'm hopin' the Skylines 'round there are still intact."

Nodding, Abigail sighs as she steps away from the table and the maps upon it. Her people have been collecting usable sections of Sky-Line railing on their off time, there being a number of places that could benefit from having a working line installed. But installing the rails isn't easy, getting the Sky-Lines to hover in place and support the weight of cargo pods and those riding with Sky-Hooks is something that will take some work to get right. Hitting the installed Sky-Lines accidentally is also a concern, as Abigail's people will likely have to employ a gunship to get the rails in position.

"Figure we'll have ta' make a decision sooner or later…" Shaking her head, Abigail touches her fingers to her long, red hair, the fiery braid hanging from her shoulder. She still wears her stolen, blue Founder's uniform with bits of Vox red, the material a touch faded but still in good condition.

"Abigail, are you alright? When's the last time you had a full night's sleep?" Abigail glances back as Vivian asks, concern plain in her voice. And it shows on her friend's face, Vivian Monroe leaning against the table with her hands resting on the edge of the scuffed wood. An attempt at looking at ease, likely an attempt to keep from appearing any more worried.

"Ah… goin' on a few days now, Viv…" But even as she says it, a long, quiet yawn parts Abigail's lips, interrupting the young redhead as she wearily covers her mouth. And Vivian just cocks an eyebrow at her, Abigail giving her friend a sheepish smile once the yawn subsides, "Okay… suppose it could be goin' on a week…"

Her unexpected journey through Rapture and New York had taken its toll on Abigail, and recovering from those ordeals took far longer than the young redhead is comfortable with. It isn't as if Abigail doesn't understand why, however; surviving Rapture as the city tore itself apart is bad enough, but with that metal monster hunting the other Elizabeth while Abigail carried her Lamb on her back, that just made the entire, grueling situation so much worse.

While Abigail had managed to avoid serious injury while running from the monstrous Gamma, it had been more than exhausting, and that had made what came next that much worse. Her brief stint in Rapture, surviving the monstrous Big Daddy and ducking insane Splicers simply led to another unexpected Tear, though the world Abigail and the unconscious Elizabeth found themselves in was a far cry from the city they'd left or the one they'd come from.

"Knowin' that woman's sendin' her thugs through Tears…" Gritting her teeth, Abigail touches her left arm, remembering the burns that she'd limped away with from the fight with a Fireman. The fact that Mercier's people came after her in New York gives Abigail reason to fear she might have a Lutece device hidden away somewhere, though for what purpose, she can't begin to guess.

It'd been good to see Booker and his Elizabeth again, but Abigail had spent several weeks recovering from the ordeals, her burns healing at an agonizingly slow rate. But for all that she'd suffered through, Abigail has to admit that some good came of the ordeal; finding the Plasmid, the pleasure of meeting the Elizabeth in Rapture, and seeing Booker and his Elizabeth.

"Abigail, are you listening?"

"Yeah…" Yawning again, Abigail shrugs as Vivian gives her an exasperated sigh, "I'll be sleepin' soon enough, Viv, don't ya' worry 'bout me. After I go an' visit her." That cuts off Vivian's objection, Abigail's friend knowing full well that 'her' means Elizabeth.

Although Vivian left the Founders' cause long ago, she still harbors a measure of awe for the Lamb of Columbia, and Abigail can tell she's more than a little curious about Elizabeth while also wanting to keep a respectful distance. "Suppose I shouldn't be surprised… bein' the object of worship an' all…" Thinking to herself, Abigail turns to leave the office, her fatigue weighing heavily on her.

"Why don't you rest, Abby, and visit her later? You're working yourself to the bone, no need to get yourself hurt again." Quick footsteps sound, Vivian coming up beside Abigail and resting a comforting hand on her shoulder. That brings a smile to Abigail's lips, if only for a second.

While she'd been recovering from her injuries, Abigail had confided with Vivian, Yoshiro and Wei about her travels and Elizabeth, though she kept details of Rapture to a minimum and skipped over the Elizabeth there entirely. Vivian and Yoshiro are effectively Abigail's right and left hand, the both of them keeping their people together in her absence, so she owed them at least that much. On the other hand, Wei needed to be kept informed, he being the closest they have to a doctor.

Yoshiro doesn't approve of Elizabeth's presence here, but with her in a coma, he seems to be keeping it to himself for the most part. A good thing, too, as Abigail isn't about to put up with any griping on the matter. Wei's more interested in Abigail's travels and the Tears, though he tends to Elizabeth admirably. And of the three, Vivian's the most supportive, Abigail speaking with her on the matter far more than Yoshiro or Wei. But whenever any of them discuss Elizabeth, they keep the discussion vague at Abigail's insistence; the Vox who'd witnessed her return to Columbia with Elizabeth on her back weren't familiar with her appearance, and Abigail scarcely wants rumors to be spread that the Lamb of Columbia's with them.

"Alright, Viv… suppose I'll take a rest." Nodding wearily at Vivian's suggestion, Abigail takes a right out of the office, making for her quarters as she waves back at her friend, "You best be takin' your own advice, love, don't want ta' wake up an' find ya' still at it."

"That's the pot calling the kettle black, Abby." Vivian chuckles as she turns and marches the other way, Abigail giving a halfhearted laugh of her own; there's plenty to do, and Vivian or one of her other squad mates often have to tell Abigail to give it a rest for the night.

"Guess I'll be takin' a break… least I won't be far when I wake…"

* * *

9:00 PM

Consciousness returns in fits and starts, Abigail's eyes opening and staring into the black long before her mind registers that she's awake. "Ugh…" Groaning quietly while sitting up, Abigail rubs her eyes, trying to shake off the last of sleep's embrace. It seems as if she'd only just went to lie down and closed her eyes, but the lethargy Abigail feels in her arms and legs would mean otherwise. As does the ticking clock on the wall, a leftover from when Abigail's quarters used to be another office for middle management.

"Okay… up we go…" Swinging her legs off the bed, Abigail climbs to her feet and reaches for where a lamp should be, feeling her way through the nearly pitch-black dark. And she nearly knocks the damn thing over as her hand bumps into the lamp's glass, Abigail scrambling to catch it before it shatters on the floor. "Whew… alright, let's get ya' lit…"

Once the lamp is back in its place and the flickering flames dance within the glass, Abigail runs her fingers through her hair and turns towards the door. The gentle light of the lamp fills her quarters with a warm glow, Abigail sparing a look around before stepping out; she'd taken this room for her own not out of any considerations of comfort, but rather for convenience. A desk and a couple chairs rest on the opposite side of the former office from Abigail's bed, all made of the same yellow-orange wood that makes up much of the Factory and Finkton.

Yawning while she steps outside, Abigail starts down the dimly lit hallway, but she stops in her tracks before going more than a few steps, "Huh… guess I should get her some flowers or somethin'…" There isn't a lot of greenery in the Factory, but some grass and weeds have taken root in Finkton, and some folks have tried gardening here and there. Should be a couple flowers outside or somewhere like that.

Turning and going off in search of said flowers, Abigail ends up raiding a windowsill planter in another office for a mismatched handful, and she hasn't a clue as to what sort of plants the yellow, pink and white bulbs and petals are. But they'll have to do, Abigail having spent more time than she'd like on this little endeavor.

Heading towards her destination, Abigail has to admit that she feels better, the nap doing her a measurable amount of good. "Guess I should be getting' more rest than I am… could do with more sleep, I suppose." While she is better rested, Abigail has a feeling that if she let herself fall back onto her bed and close her eyes, she'd be out like a light.

Unbeknownst to her, Abigail's humming a small tune as she makes her way down the hallways, and she finds her mood much improved from how she'd been all day. Maybe it's the nap that's the cause, or that she's not letting herself dwell on all the troubles that have been weighing on her, but Abigail's oddly feeling a touch cheerful.

And she's not the only one to notice; the hallways are anything but deserted, a number of Vox going about their business even at this late of an hour, Abigail drawing a grin or a chuckle out of those that she passes by.

Slipping past a group of three and around a left corner, Abigail sighs as she steps past her own quarters again; she'd arranged for Elizabeth to be in an out of the way area of this wing of the Factory, not too far from her own quarters but still far enough away to be kept safe and away from prying eyes. While this is just a precaution, Abigail has to wonder how long it'll be until someone gets curious enough to peek at her 'guest'. "Door's locked, but that won't hold for long, if someone gets it into their damn fool head ta' see what's in there…"

Elizabeth's new home is nowhere near as lavish as her cell in the asylum, but Abigail's done as much as she can to make sure she's comfortable. At the very least, Elizabeth's not in a cage anymore, or so Abigail hopes; the Lamb's still effectively locked up and secreted away, but if Elizabeth wakes up, she'll be able to walk out of here on her own.

Coming up to her destination, Abigail stops at the door to look around before slipping her gloved right hand into one of her uniform's many pockets, her fingers finding the key she's taken to keeping on her at all times. But before sliding the key into the lock, Abigail knocks first, "It's me, I'm comin' in."

Slipping inside quietly, Abigail closes the door behind her and locks it again. "Evenin', ma'am."

"Oh, Ms. Abigail…" Turning to face the speaker, Abigail grins as she finds the middle-aged spinster beside the room's large bed, the frightened look on the caretaker's features slowly fading away. The jumpy, excitable woman doesn't trust near anyone with being near Elizabeth, only Abigail, Vivian and Wei not causing her to panic. Even that had taken a while, the spinster slow to trust any of them.

The caretaker had gone with Abigail's squad when they'd fled Comstock House, she not about to leave Elizabeth in the hands of the Vox. And Abigail's glad for that; Elizabeth will need caring for, and the spinster's likely the person she can count on the most for that. And the spinster had been absolutely relieved when Abigail had reappeared with Elizabeth, she practically speechless and unable to stay on her feet when she'd see the two of them again.

The place where Elizabeth dwells is a pair of adjoined rooms, and while Abigail hasn't a clue as to what it had been before the Vox overran the Factory, it's now the home of the Lamb and her caretaker. And Abigail and the spinster have made it as warm and comforting as possible; everything that Abigail had carried away in a trunk from Monument Tower decorates the room, aside from what she'd given to the Luteces for the other Elizabeth's birthday and Christmas, as well as a decent bed, a small table, a couple chairs, nightstands and a phonograph. The latter bears one of Elizabeth's records, though no music issues from the phonograph.

"Evenin', Elizabeth." Stepping up to Elizabeth's bedside, the headboards against the back wall and covered in a thick, white blanket, Abigail places the mismatched flowers in a plain blue vase on her nightstand. Taking a seat on the edge of the bed, Abigail glances back at the spinster only to find her disappearing through the other door, something that smells of soup coming from the caretaker's adjoining room. "Guess she's makin' ya' a late supper…"

"I've… I've already finished." The spinster calls from the other room, reappearing with a bowl, spoon and a rather large napkin, "About to feed her… if you don't mind helping…?"

"Sure."

Sitting Elizabeth up, Abigail watches as the spinster ties the napkin around the sleeping girl's neck and begins to feed her. It's not a particularly glamorous affair, and it's more than a little messy, but that doesn't bother Abigail after growing up in the slums. The caretaker doesn't say much throughout, the young redhead turning to her own thoughts as the middle-aged woman feeds Elizabeth.

When the creamy, chowder-like soup is finished, the spinster stands and quickly returns to her own room without a word, suddenly leaving Abigail alone with Elizabeth. "Well… suppose it's just the two of us. Alright…" Abigail starts talking to Elizabeth about nothing in particular, even though she doubts the older girl really hears what she says. Abigail talks of whatever she can think of that is lighthearted or inconsequential, but it doesn't last more than ten minutes before her mood slowly turns somber.

"Elizabeth, I've been thinkin' we might have ta' relocate. Don't much like it, but we can't stay here long, an' that means we'll have likely have ta' go somewhere less comfortable. Then again… you an' I, what we went through isn't somethin' I'd call comfortable, either." Talking of the possible move and their travel through Tears gets Abigail down some, a heavyhearted sigh parting her lips.

"No, dammit." Shaking her head, Abigail takes a breath and pushes such thoughts aside. "How 'bout a song, hmm? But what?" Pausing, a small grin crosses her face as she realizes how foolish she sounds, asking a question of the unconscious Elizabeth, "I'll… be lettin' a coin toss decide, then. Heads… 'Will The Circle Be Unbroken'… Tails… one of mine, I suppose…" With that, Abigail fishes a Silver Eagle from another pocket, flipping it end over end until it lands on her open, ungloved palm. "Huh, alright…"

_"There are loved ones, in the glory…"_

The hymn comes easily enough, Abigail keeping her voice low and soft, but she can't let herself get too invested in the song; it strikes a little too close to home, thoughts of her own family coming unbidden as she sings. "Guess we've got some common ground in that regard…" Thinking to herself, Abigail grimaces as she enters the second verse.

Although she's keeping her voice quiet, Elizabeth's not the only audience Abigail has; from the corner of her eye, she spies the spinster watching from the doorway, the middle-aged woman seemingly trying to remain unnoticed. It doesn't bother her, Abigail just keeping up with the song while gently touching Elizabeth's hand.

But the spinster disappears before long, Abigail glancing back as she enters the fourth verse only to find the door closed and no sign of the middle-aged woman. For this, Abigail's relieved; the last two verses of this song are likely to affect her, Abigail already getting a little choked up as she reaches the part about 'happy gatherings'.

Once the final line passes her lips, Abigail falls silent, sniffling quietly and dabbing at her eyes; the song had struck a chord within her and caused her to tear up, Abigail needing a minute to compose herself.

"Okay…" Heaving a deep, heartfelt sigh, Abigail stands up and moves to the table, picking up one of the books and the postcard of Paris that lies atop it before returning to her seat, "How 'bout some reading, love?" Elizabeth doesn't respond, nor does Abigail expect her to; she just continues to sleep, her expression just as peaceful as it always is.

Abigail spends the next hour just reading aloud, the Paris postcard resting beneath Elizabeth's crossed hands; just a bit of sentimentality on Abigail's part, but it's something she feels Elizabeth would appreciate. No interruptions come from the spinster or from outside Elizabeth's home, leaving Abigail free to read until a yawn interrupts her near an hour later.

"I'll just leave this here…" Taking the postcard from Elizabeth, Abigail places it and the book on the nightstand, she suddenly feeling plenty tired as her fatigue catches up to her. "Don't know what's comin' next, but…" Another yawn cuts Abigail off, and she frowns once it passes, "Ah… night, Elizabeth, I'll be seein' ya' tomorrow…"

* * *

**Author's Note: So Abigail's got Elizabeth to safety, or at least as safe as anywhere in Columbia can be with the Founders and the Vox Populi, but that doesn't mean her problems are just going to disappear. The situation she and her people face is more than a little tenuous, and who knows what'll happen next.**

**Not a lot to say about this chapter. I've checked the chapter several times for errors, but if I missed something, feel free to let me know. Thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoyed the chapter. There should be a chapter this coming Saturday (or Sunday) night, but its not a guarantee.**


	17. Stomping Grounds

**For new readers, this story is based off of and is tied into several other pieces of mine. If you're not sure where to start, I'd suggest finding Bioshock Infinite: Unbroken, as well as its prequel Unbroken: Song of Sorrow and the continuation Unbroken: I'm Home. Thanks for checking it out.**

**There is now a timeline of sorts for the various chapters on my profile page, just an attempt to make it a little easier to see what happens when in relation to other chapters.**

* * *

11: 15 PM

"So… we are in agreement."

Looking around the table, Abigail doesn't miss the grave expressions the six Vox wear as they nod in agreement. Not surprising, given what they had just decided on. Vivian and Yoshiro sit to either side of Abigail, bringing the number of influential moderates gathered tonight up to nine.

"Don't much like ta' be meetin' like this." Thinking to herself, Abigail allows herself a brief, worried frown. The men and women in this out of the way office are essentially the leadership of the Vox moderates, and a single explosion or attack could be a disaster. While she is still the de facto leader of the moderates, the Vox around her are important in their own right, and Abigail is more than happy to let them shoulder some of this burden.

"'Course, if I coulda kept the fightin' away from us, we wouldn't be needin' ta' take such risks…"

"Those bastards keep violatin' our territory when the bullets start flyin'." Patrick speaks up, the heavy-set, middle-aged Irishman unintentionally voicing part of Abigail's worries. "I've been sayin' we can't just wait around until someone decides to attack us. We ought ta' give 'em a bloody nose, teach Downs and the others they can't walk all over us."

"That will just draw us into their fight." The retort comes from Lucas, the tall, reserved black man shaking his head slowly. He's a good fighter and squad leader, but the twenty-something Vox is most appreciated for keeping their uniforms from completely falling apart, and for managing the faction's limited supplies.

The Vox civil war has been reduced to essentially trench warfare, though instead of actual trenches, there are the walls and rooms of the Factory along with bunkers and traps. The three sides take shots at each other, but the only real violence these days happen when one faction attempts to raid another. That's when it spills into areas controlled by the moderates, and plenty of their people are in their makeshift infirmary thanks to the fighting. That includes Sean, Abigail's squad mate and backup pilot having caught a bullet in the hip, though he's up and walking around at least.

Looking down at the table and the old maps of the Factory, Abigail's gaze settles on the docks, and she grimaces as a knot tightens in the pit of her stomach. She has concerns, and not just about the plan; seeing what has become of the Vox Populi and the moderates, Abigail's been doubting herself more and more lately. The state of her people is enough to make the redhead wonder if she really should be in charge, and then there is the girl she's been protecting in secret.

"Abigail…?"

A gentle tug on her right arm draws Abigail's gaze from the map, and she finds herself staring blankly back at Vivian. "Huh?"

"The operation. We're debating whether we should move some of our bulkier supplies into the docks beforehand in crates; cots, ammunition, weapons, Skyline rails… we won't be able to carry everything, not with the wounded." Vivian glances down at the map before Abigail, "We are nearer to the docks than the rest of the Vox, but your plan relies on quick action, shock and awe; we won't have time to come back and retrieve whatever we couldn't bring along."

"Ya' got a point… good thinkin', Vivian. We should get the last of 'em moved before nightfall, don't want ta' raise suspicions. I'll see ta' loadin' up a crate myself…" Nodding, Abigail glances around the table before returning her gaze to the map, "Alright… we move tomorrow at midnight; once the vanguard takes the docks, all of us will board the ships an' get the hell outta here."

That brings the meeting to a close, the Vox around the table standing and making for the exit, off to see to whatever preparations they need make. Yoshiro leaves without saying a word, the older Japanese soldier just as taciturn as ever. Vivian's busy gathering up the maps and muttering to herself, Abigail's friend wondering just how much they can load onto the ships and still evacuate everyone. She offers a quick 'goodnight' before disappearing out the door.

"Suppose I should be turnin' in…" Making to leave once the others have gone, Abigail finds it's all she can muster to trudge on, what she set in motion weighing heavily on her young shoulders. The idea of separating from the rest of the Vox Populi would have been too radical to consider before the factions began warring with one another, but it's been on hers and the other leaders' minds for the past month and a half.

"I haven't seen 'em since I got back… where are those fool twins? I could use some bleedin' advice right about now, dammit…"

Grumbling, Abigail continues down the darkened hallways of the Factory, the notion of returning to her room growing more and more appealing as she goes. The place has been her home for months now, "I'll be leavin' it for good, come the morrow, best enjoy the rest while I can…"

Even with the halls being empty and most of the Vox asleep, it takes Abigail several minutes to get back, giving her mind plenty of time to mull over her problems. Still, one thought manages to push above the others as Abigail comes to her door, "Hell of a lead up ta' Christmas…"

* * *

December 18, 1913, 11:57 PM

Three minutes to midnight. Staring at an old clock high on the assembly room's wall, Abigail focuses on keeping her breathing slow and steady in a vain attempt to stay calm. It isn't easy with the dread and anxiety welling up inside her, the young redhead's fears and self-doubt her constant companion on this night. "Calm yourself, Abigail… ain't no turnin' back now…"

This assembly room is one of two that fall within the territory of the Vox moderates, where many of their numbers would bed down on any other night. But this night is anything but normal; the bulk of Abigail's people are awake and ready to move out, their possessions packed and carried however they can.

Her compatriots are also helping the wounded among their numbers, not a single man or woman unburdened in some way. And Abigail is no exception, the redhead standing at the assembly room's main exit with her own wounded and possessions.

Two minutes. Abigail's charge sleeps in a wheelchair and is dressed in a thick, hooded coat, an effort to keep her identity secret. "Almost time…" Easing her grip on the handles of Elizabeth's wheelchair, Abigail picks up an overloaded canvas bag and slips the sole strap over her head, so it's slung across her shoulder and chest. The bag is heavy enough that it could throw Abigail off balance, loaded with both hers and Elizabeth's personal effects; it's barely large enough to fit everything she stuffed it with, and feels like a ton of bricks on Abigail's back.

One minute. The twenty-odd soldiers in the vanguard should be just about at the docks, assuming nothing went wrong. The docks are usually empty at this hour, being well outside the territory of the other factions and away from where most of the fighting happens, but they can't take any chances; there are occasions when the odd squad or company from the other factions have been found in the dock, usually to commandeer a few gunships for a night raid on the Founders.

As the ticking of the clock marks the passing seconds, Abigail's mind begins to play tricks on her, conjuring up possible scenarios that do nothing to help her already questionable peace of mind. "If somethin' goes wrong, we're sure ta' hear it…" The thought doesn't give Abigail any comfort, and the clock just keeps ticking away.

Five. Four. Abigail holds her breath as the clock's second hand passes the eleven, on its way to the top of the hour. Three. Two. One.

Nothing. Taking her gaze away from the clock, Abigail half expects to hear gunfire or shouts any second now. And she only remembers to breathe after several moments pass, the silence still unbroken by anything save Abigail taking in a fresh breath of air and the murmurs of her assembled compatriots. But the murmurs grow louder as midnight passes, and there's a palpable sense of tension in the air. "C'mon… where are ya'? Can't be wai-"

She doesn't have a chance to finish the thought, a quiet knock on the door answering Abigail. A whisper through the door follows, Abigail recognizing the message runner's voice, "The dock's ours."

"That's our cue, let's get movin'!" Speaking up so everyone can hear, Abigail pushes open the door and wheels Elizabeth through, the runner already disappearing down the dark hallway after relaying his message. And the rest of her people follow suit, trudging out of the assembly room that many had called home and marching towards the docks. "All accordin' ta' plan, for now." Whispering quietly to herself while continuing down the dark corridor, Abigail follows after the message runner with her comrades close behind.

Though it's not an especially long hike to the docks, moving as a group and as burdened as they are makes it slow going, and the tension hasn't abated one bit as they make their way down the Factory's dark hallways. Only when their destination comes into view does the tension break, a collective sigh of relief coming from many of the Vox. Abigail doesn't allow herself to relax, though; it's been maybe five minutes since leaving their territory, but it feels far longer, and they're far from safe.

Wheeling Elizabeth into the docks, Abigail squints as she takes a look around; there are a handful of lanterns at the start of the piers and on some of the crates, their scant light only enough to reveal a fraction of the dock, but it's enough that Abigail's eyes need to adjust. The rest of the docks are cast in long shadows by the meager lantern light. Pale beams of moonlight fall on the ships at the end of the piers, but it doesn't light up anything deeper into the docks.

The soldiers of the vanguard are already hard at work, moving some supplies onto the nearest gunships while Vivian, Yoshiro and four others use a rope and pulley crane to move the larger crates onto Abigail's cargo barge. "There ya' are… I'll be countin' on ya'."

Pushing Elizabeth's wheelchair down the middle pier and up the gangplank to the barge, Abigail breathes a quiet sigh once they're on the worn wooden deck; the ship has been with Abigail since the beginning, before the Vox fractured, even before she met Yoshiro, Wei, Mattie and Sean, and she can't help but think of it as an old friend. And now that Abigail's aboard with Elizabeth and the other moderates are loading their ships, their flight from the Factory is just that much closer.

"'Course, just when I start thinkin' it, that'll be when it all goes ta' hell…" Making for the pilot's cabin with Elizabeth, Abigail glances around the docks for signs of a struggle. All she spots is Vivian leaving the crew at the crane, her friend heading straight for her. "Guess I'll be findin' out…"

But not right away, Abigail continuing into the cabin and getting Elizabeth settled by the time Vivian catches up. "All according to plan, Abby. The first ships should be taking off before long, and we'll have the old girl loaded up soon." Coming to a stop at the cabin's door, Vivian pauses before continuing, her voice quiet now, "How is she doing?"

"Same as always, Viv; sleepin' without a care in the world." Pulling the hood of Elizabeth's disguise a little lower, Abigail climbs to her feet and steps away from the girl with a weary groan. "Was there any trouble worth mentionin'?"

"Nothing I'd call 'trouble', just a few soldiers who had too much to drink. Don't know which faction they fight for, but we tied them up and stuffed them between some crates." Vivian shrugs and leans against the doorframe, "We didn't find anyone else. We might just pull this off after all."

"Perhaps, but I won't be breathin' easy till we're well clear of this place." Moving to the controls, Abigail begins to power up the barge's systems, the faint hum of the engine filling the pilot's cabin. "I'll be out ta' help in a minute, love, just makin' sure we're ready ta' fly."

"Don't worry about it, Abby; we have plenty of hands out here already."

Vivian backs out of the doorway and heads for the gangplank, leaving Abigail alone with Elizabeth. "Well…" Resting her arms on the ship's wheel, Abigail glances over to the sleeping girl beside her while listening to the sound of the engine, "guess we've got some time on our hands..."

Watching her people working on the piers doesn't help to pass the time any faster, and Abigail soon finds herself pacing the wooden floor of the cabin, fiddling with her braid absentmindedly. At first, it's simply nerves and tension; every moment the Vox moderates remain puts them at even greater risk of being found out. But it doesn't take long for Abigail's mind to start turning to problems and worries beyond the flight from the Factory, her own insecurities in particular taking center stage.

It's not until she hears the family, sharp whine of a gunship taking off that Abigail stops her pacing, the young redhead looking up to find the last of the large crates being lowered onto the barge and a couple dozen wounded resting on the deck. "Alright, love, we're almost shut of all this. Once Viv an' the others ge-ah!"

A flash of light and fire races past the cabin's window, and an explosion follows a heartbeat later. Shouts fill the dock, and the moderates still on the piers scramble to climb aboard the closest ships.

"RPG…? Where in the… ah, hell's bells!"

Rushing to the controls while trying to figure out what just happened, Abigail can't help but curse; armed Vox come pouring into the dock, Abigail spying a Beast among them with a smoking RPG on his shoulder. A gunship maneuvering towards the dock's exit must have been hit, Abigail able to make out the damage to one of its port thrusters. And there are too many enemies for this to be a case of bad luck.

"Time ta' go!" Shouting through the glass, Abigail barely waits long enough for her squad to jump aboard before pulling away from the pier, the rest of the commandeered gunships already in the process of taking off. The sound of Repeaters and Burstguns barely pierce the whine and roar of the fleet's engines, and Abigail grits her teeth as she struggles to maneuver. "Ya' can't expect a barge ta' turn on a dime! Get outta the way! Everybody, hold on!"

Dipping suddenly to avoid a collision, the barge shudders as it crashes through a small jetty connected to the pier, Abigail grimacing at the impact; everything's chaotic with so many ships trying to exit the dock at once. And more enemy Vox pour through the doors with each passing moment, bringing more guns, RPGs and now Hail Fires to bear. The exchange of weapons fire as some of the moderates fire back just makes a bad situation worse, Abigail's barge shaking violently whenever a flak shell or rocket explodes too close.

"Abigail, brace for impact!" Yoshiro's gruff voice somehow manages to cut through the din, but Abigail hasn't time to heed him; the barge rocks forward suddenly, throwing her against the wheel while an explosion rings in her ears.

"Son of a bitch, that hurt!"

Cursing and rubbing where her chest had slammed into a handle of the ship's wheel, Abigail pushes the throttle as close to full as she dares; they have to get out _now_, before one of the Beasts gets lucky and shoots somebody down. "We're almost outta here, just… Elizabeth?"

Elizabeth isn't beside her anymore, Abigail spotting the wheelchair on its side and against the starboard wall of the cabin, but where its occupant ended up is what panics her; the sleeping girl is crumpled awkwardly in the corner, and the fact that Elizabeth could neither brace nor protect herself from the jolt suddenly dawns on Abigail. And that's enough for her to throttle up to full.

"Just hold on ta' somethin'!" Shouting to the passengers on deck as the barge brushes a gunship, Abigail grits her teeth as the ship's shaking worsens, both from the reckless flying and enemy weapons fire. Another jolt runs through the barge just as it is about to cross out of the dock, something detonating against the port hull and causing the ship to tilt dangerously the other way.

"Ah, hells… c'mon, level out!" Straining against the wheel as it tries to spin hard to port, Abigail barely has time to notice the passengers on the deck scrambling to stay upright and away from the edge. It takes several, heart pounding seconds, but the barge eventually responds and rights itself, and Abigail can finally breathe again.

"Hell's bells... let's not be doin' that again. Shouldn't need ta', by the look of it…" The barge is clear of the docks, Abigail only seeing the dark night sky and the glow of several gunships' thrusters beyond the crates outside. And the moment the ship is out of danger, Abigail abandons the controls, carefully laying Elizabeth down on the floor

"Abby? What happened, why aren't we changing course…?"

Abigail doesn't take her gaze from Elizabeth as Vivian rushes into the cabin, instead looking over the sleeping Lamb for any sign of injury, "Viv, take the controls… an' get Wei; hope I'm just worryin' over nothin', but I don't care ta' be takin' any chances."

* * *

12:35 PM

"There it is, Elizabeth."

Despite herself, Abigail can't help but tighten her grip on the wheelchair's handles; their destination is now in sight, the lights of many of the commandeered gunships clustered nearby. She stands at the bow of the barge with Elizabeth, the sleeping girl thankfully no worse for wear after her fall and now resting in her chair once more. The same can't be said for the barge, however; there's a ragged hole at the back of the pilot cabin, and one of the port buffer cushions is blown to hell.

"Least we boarded up the back windows when they got shot out… doubt flyin' glass shards woulda made flyin' tonight any easier." Breathing in the cool night air, Abigail wrinkles her nose as she notices the faint scent of smoke, soot and something like rot, "Almost managed ta' forget that odor. Sorry, Elizabeth, but it's only goin' ta' get worse. Welcome ta' Shantytown, love."

The pale moonlight lends Shantytown an eerie, haunted look as the barge approaches, the dark, empty buildings seeming all the more ominous for it. This has always been the plan, to relocate the moderates of the Vox to Shantytown with as many gunships and barges as they could lay their hands on, and to make it their stronghold. But laying eyes on the slums and knowing that this will be where she calls 'home' again, Abigail's heart sinks, the despair and hopelessness that suffused Shantytown coming back to her.

"Too many memories…" Muttering softly, Abigail closes her eyes in an attempt to settle down, "I'll be havin' bad dreams tonight, ya' can bet on that..." Being back at the old stomping grounds like this brings up far, far too many painful memories; a good night's sleep is likely a long way off for Abigail.

The barge coming to a stop interrupts Abigail's recollection, though the sight that greets her as she opens her eyes again evokes a different reaction; fear and revulsion, something Abigail will have to deal with. The Bull House towers overhead, Abigail's ship docking in front of the fortified police station, and her squad is already securing the barge to the railings in lieu of more secure moorings. "No way up here by foot, an' the Skylines are fallin' apart. Suppose we'll have ta' do somethin' about that…"

Once the gangplank is lowered, Abigail retrieves a lantern and carefully wheels Elizabeth off the barge, intent on getting her away from prying eyes. It takes some work to get the wheelchair up the steps leading to the Bull House, several gunships flying overhead and coming in to dock at the piers below by the time Abigail reaches the metal doors.

"I used ta' live 'round here, when I was but a lass…" Lighting the lantern and hanging it from one of the wheelchair's handles, Abigail pulls open the heavy doors enough to slip inside with Elizabeth. But crossing over the threshold awakens a sense of dread within Abigail, the interior of the Bull House pitch black aside from the light cast by her lantern, "But I was never fool enough ta' come 'round here… growin' up in Shantytown, ya' learn quick ta' steer clear of the Bull Yard, an' the coppers."

Talking to Elizabeth helps her nerves some, and Abigail starts moving deeper into the Bull House with her sleeping ward, the sound of her voice, her boots on tile and the squeak of the wheelchair echoing in the dark as they go.

While Abigail has never set foot in this building before, she isn't the least bit surprised when her lantern's light reveals the towering, golden soldier statues that line the entryway or the bars of the security checkpoint a little farther ahead; she has Booker's memories of the Bull House to thank for that. "Oh, we'll be tearin' those down, first chance we get." Passing through the checkpoint, Abigail stops as the door leading to the foyer comes into view and glances back the way she came, "Wait… where'd those mines go? Someone came in here ta'… ah, suppose it don't matter…"

Taking the lantern from Elizabeth's chair, Abigail steps away to look at her surroundings, noting the inaccessible door behind the counters on the left and some forgotten weapons covered in a fine layer of dust; the place looks as if it hasn't been touched since the uprising, aside from the missing mines.

"Like walkin' into a tomb…" Returning to Elizabeth with a frown on her lips, Abigail pushes through the double doors and into the foyer, "Off we go, love; there has ta' be some sorta bunkhouse in here, somewhere." The memories of Booker and Elizabeth's time here paints a clear picture of the Bull House's layout, and points Abigail in the direction of where to start looking; one of two doors the False Shepherd and Lamb didn't explore, in the impound. "I'll just have ta' figure somethin' out to get it open."

Once through the foyer and down the stairs into the impound, it takes Abigail a good amount of hacking with her sword and a blast from her Sonic Boom Plasmid to get through the barred door, but it's worth the effort; beyond a couple rooms filled with impounded goods is an elevator and stairwell that leads higher up, as well as a hallway that seems to lead back to the entryway. But she doesn't have the time to explore, much less figure out how to power the elevator.

"Abigail!" Sean's voice comes from somewhere in the impound, Abigail sighing and letting her head hang for a moment before shouting back. Halting footfalls sound in response, and soon Sean appears in the blasted doorway, another lantern revealing his youthful features and mop of brown hair. "Trouble! Lookouts spotted a few gunships headin' our way, flyin' Vox colors. Can't be sure how many are out there, an' Vivian's gettin' everyone ready in case they mean ta' fight."

"Just perfect… but not surprisin'." Frowning, Abigail glances back at Elizabeth, "Tell Viv I'm comin', but I'll need her ta' take care of my friend. An' get someone workin' on the power in here!" She has to shout the last after Sean, her youngest squad mate already hobbling back to relay her message, and Abigail shakes her head as he goes; the fool is going to open up his wound if he keeps pushing himself like that.

"Sorry, love, but I'm goin' ta' have ta' leave ya' someplace safe." Wheeling Elizabeth around and heading back towards the impound, Abigail whispers an apology, "There's an interrogation room upstairs, out of the way, should keep ya' outta sight till Viv gets here. Let's just hope those ships are comin' ta' parley."

Moving through the dark, abandoned impound with only her lantern to light the way, Abigail can't help but wonder if all of this will make a difference; moving back into Shantytown to avoid the civil war may have just painted a giant target on the moderates' instead, and the relocation doesn't put a great deal of distance between them. "Then there's food, shelter, defense, the refugees..." Still, a grin touches the young redhead's lips, "Well… like Da always said; there ain't no rest for the weary, Abigail, best get ta' work."

* * *

**Author's Note: Whew, it's been a while, but I'm back! Some issues have been resolved, others not so much so, but I fully intend to pick up where I left off back in November. Hopefully I'll be able to keep updating fairly regularly.**

**This chapter was written in parts at both the beginning and end of my hiatus, so I wouldn't be surprised if there's something out of place in the writing style or content, though I have looked a few times before uploading. Feel free to let me know if something doesn't make sense or looks out of place. Now, my hope is to have another chapter ready by next Saturday night, but I am getting back into the swing of things. Latest I expect the next chapter to be ready (of another story, naturally) would be the next weekend.**

**Thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoyed the chapter.**


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